Lyrics  of  the  Hearthside 


AMS  PRESS 

NEW  YORK 


f/ix_-c~_X>-      *-  f 


Lyrics  of  the  Hearthside 

By 

Paul  Laurence  Dunbar 


New  York 

Dodd,  Mead  and  Company 
1899 


Library  of  Congress  Cataloging  in  Publication  Data 

Dunbar,  Paul  Laurence,  1872-1906. 
Lyrics  of  the  hearthside. 

I.   Title. 

PS1556.L7  1972      811'. 4      70-164802 
ISBN  0-404-00037-1 

I 


Reprinted  from  the  edition  of  1899,  New  York 
First  AMS  edition  published  in  1972 
Manufactured  in  the  United  States  of  America 

International  Standard  Book  Number:   0-404-00037-1 

AMS  PRESS  INC. 

NEW  YORK,  N.Y.    10003 


TO    ALICE 


I"    r 


<>-? 


CONTENTS. 


PACK 

LOVE'S  APOTHEOSIS       i 

THE  PARADOX       3 

OVER  THE  HILLS 5 

WITH  THE  LARK      .         6 

IN  SUMMER       8 

THE  MYSTIC  SEA 10 

A  SAILOR'S  SONG n 

THE  BOHEMIAN 13 

ABSENCE       14 

HER  THOUGHT  AND  His      16 

THE  RIGHT  TO  DIE 17 

BEHIND  THE  ARRAS 18 

WHEN  THE  OLD  MAN  SMOKES 19 

THE  GARRET 22 

To  E.  H.  K 24 

A  BRIDAL  MEASURE 25 

VENGEANCE  is  SWEET       27 

A  HYMN        28 

JUST  WHISTLE  A  BIT        30 

THE  BARRIER 32 

DREAMS 34 

THE  DREAMER 35 

vii 


Contents. 

PACK 

WAITING      36 

THE  END  OF  THE  CHAPTER 38 

SYMPATHY 40 

LOVE  AND  GRIEF 42 

MORTALITY 43 

LOVE 44 

SHE  GAVE  ME  A  ROSE       45 

DREAM  SONG.    1 46 

DREAM  SONG.    II 47 

CHRISTMAS  IN  THE  HEART       48 

THE  KING  is  DEAD 50 

THEOLOGY 52 

RESIGNATION 53 

LOVE'S  HUMILITY 54 

PRECEDENT 55 

SHE  TOLD  HER  BEADS 56 

LITTLE  LUCY  LAN  OMAN 57 

THE  GOURD 60 

THE  KNIGHT 63 

THOU  ART  MY  LUTE 64 

THE  PHANTOM  Kiss 65 

COMMUNION 67 

MARE  RUBRUM 70 

IN  AN  ENGLISH  GARDEN       71 

THE  CRISIS       72 

THE  CONQUERORS 74 

ALEXANDER  CRUMMELL  —  DEAD       76 

WHEN  ALL  is  DONE 78 

THE  POET  AND  THE  BABY 80 

DISTINCTION 81 

THE  SUM 82 

viii 


Contents. 

PAGE 

SONNET 83 

ON  THE  SEA  WALL 84 

To  A  LADY  PLAYING  THE  HARP       86 

CONFESSIONAL 88 

MISAPPREHENSION 90 

PROMETHEUS 91 

LOVE'S  PHASES 93 

FOR  THE  MAN  WHO  FAILS 95 

HARRIET  BEECHER  STOWE 97 

VAGRANTS 98 

A  WINTER'S  DAY 100 

MY  LITTLE  MARCH  GIRL 101 

REMEMBERED 103 

LOVE  DESPOILED       105 

THE  LAPSE       106 

THE  WARRIOR'S  PRAYER 109 

FAREWELL  TO  ARCADY in 

THE  VOICE  OF  THE  BANJO 113 

THE  STIRRUP  CUP 116 

A  CHOICE 118 

THEN  AND  Now 119 

AT  CHESHIRE  CHEESE 121 

MY  CORN-COB  PIPE       123 

IN  AUGUST 125 

THE  DISTURBER 127 

EXPECTATION 130 

LOVER'S  LANE       132 

PROTEST 135 

HYMN       137 

LITTLE  BROWN  BABY 139 

TIME  TO  TINKER  'ROUN  ' ! 141 

ix 


Contents. 

PAGE 

THE  REAL  QUESTION 143 

JILTED 145 

THE  NEWS 147 

CHRISMUS  ON  THE  PLANTATION        149 

ANGELINA 153 

FOOLIN'  WID  DE  SEASONS 156 

MY  SORT  o'  MAN 159 

POSSUM 163 

ON  THE  ROAD      165 

A  DEATH  SONG 167 

A  BACK-LOG  SONG 168 

LULLABY       171 

THE  PHOTOGRAPH 173 

JEALOUS 175 

PARTED 177 

TEMPTATION 179 

POSSUM  TROT   .    .    , 182 

DELY 187 

BREAKING  THE  CHARM 190 

HUNTING  SONG 194 

A  LETTER 197 

CHRISMUS  is  A-COMIN' .    .  201 

A  CABIN  TALE 204 

AT  CANDLE-LIGHTIN'  TIME 210 

WHISTLING  SAM 213 

How  LUCY  BACKSLID                         .....  218 


Lyrics   of  the    Hearthside. 


LOVE'S   APOTHEOSIS. 

LOVE  me.    I  care  not  what  the  circling  years 
To  me  may  do. 

If,  but  in  spite  of  time  and  tears, 
You  prove  but  true. 

Love  me  —  albeit  grief  shall  dim  mine  eyes, 

And  tears  bedew, 
I  shall  not  e'en  complain,  for  then  my  skies 

Shall  still  be  blue. 

Love  me,  and  though  the  winter  snow  shall  pile, 

And  leave  me  chill, 

Thy  passion's  warmth  shall  make  for  me,  mean 
while, 

A  sun-kissed  hill. 
i 


Lyrics  of  the  Hearthside. 

And  when  the  days  have  lengthened  into  years, 

And  I  grow  old, 

Oh,  spite   of  pains  and  griefs  and   cares  and 
fears, 

Grow  thou  not  cold. 

Then  hand  and  hand  we  shall  pass  up  the  hill, 

I  say  not  down  ; 
That  twain  go  up,  of  love,  who  Ve  loved  their 

MI,- 

To  gain  love's  crown. 

Love  me,  and  let  my  life  take  up  thine  own, 

As  sun  the  dew. 
Come,  sit,  my  queen,  for  in  my  heart  a  throne 

Awaits  for  you ! 


The  Paradox. 


THE    PARADOX. 

I  AM  the  mother  of  sorrows, 
I  am  the  ender  of  grief; 
I  am  the  bud  and  the  blossom, 
I  am  the  late-falling  leaf. 

I  am  thy  priest  and  thy  poet, 
I  am  thy  serf  and  thy  king ; 

I  cure  the  tears  of  the  heartsick, 
When  I  come  near  they  shall  sing. 

White  are  my  hands  as  the  snow-drop ; 

Swart  are  my  fingers  as  clay ; 
Dark  is  my  frown  as  the  midnight, 

Fair  is  my  brow  as  the  day. 

Battle  and  war  are  my  minions, 

Doing  my  will  as  divine  ; 
I  am  the  calmer  of  passions, 

Peace  is  a  nursling  of  mine. 
3 


Lyrics  of  the  Hearthside. 

Speak  to  me  gently  or  curse  me, 
Seek  me  or  fly  from  my  sight ; 

I  am  thy  fool  in  the  morning, 
Thou  art  my  slave  in  the  night. 

Down  to  the  grave  will  I  take  thee, 
Out  from  the  noise  of  the  strife ; 

Then  shalt  thou  see  me  and  know  me  — 
Death,  then,  no  longer,  but  life. 

Then  shalt  thou  sing  at  my  coming, 
Kiss  me  with  passionate  breath, 

Clasp  me  and  smile  to  have  thought  me 
Aught  save  the  foeman  of  Death. 

Come  to  me,  brother,  when  weary, 
Come  when  thy  lonely  heart  swells ; 

I  '11  guide  thy  footsteps  and  lead  thee 
Down  where  the  Dream  Woman  dwells. 


Over  the  Hills. 


OVER   THE   HILLS. 

OVER  the  hills  and  the  valleys  of  dreaming 
Slowly  I  take  my  way. 

Life  is  the  night  with  its  dream-visions  teeming, 
Death  is  the  waking  at  day. 

Down  thro'  the  dales  and  the  bowers  of  loving, 

Singing,  I  roam  afar. 
Daytime  or  night-time,  I  constantly  roving,  — 

Dearest  one,  thou  art  my  star. 


Lyrics  of  the  Hearthside. 


WITH   THE   LARK. 

NIGHT  is  for  sorrow  and  dawn  is  for  joy, 
Chasing  the  troubles  that  fret  and  annoy  ; 
Darkness  for  sighing  and  daylight  for  song,  — 
Cheery  and   chaste    the    strain,    heartfelt    and 

strong. 
All  the  night  through,  though  I  moan   in  the 

dark, 
I  wake  in  the  morning  to  sing  with  the  lark. 

Deep  in  the  midnight  the  rain  whips  the  leaves, 
Softly  and  sadly  the  wood-spirit  grieves. 
But  when  the  first  hue  of  dawn  tints  the  sky, 
I  shall  shake  out  my  wings  like  the  birds  and 

be  dry; 
And    though,    like   the    rain-drops,    I    grieved 

through  the  dark, 
I  shall  wake  in  the  morning  to  sing  with  the 

lark. 

6 


With  the  Lark. 

On  the  high  hills  of  heaven,  some  morning  to 
be, 

Where  the  rain  shall  not  grieve  thro'  the  leaves 
of  the  tree, 

There  my  heart  will  be  glad  for  the  pain  I  have 
known, 

For  my  hand  will  be  clasped  in  the  hand  of 
mine  own ; 

And  though  life  has  been  hard  and  death's  path 
way  been  dark, 

I  shall  wake  in  the  morning  to  sing  with  the 
lark. 


Lyrics  of  the  Hearthside. 


IN   SUMMER. 

OH,  summer  has  clothed  the  earth 
In  a  cloak  from  the  loom  of  the  sun  ! 
And  a  mantle,  too,  of  the  skies'  soft  blue, 
And  a  belt  where  the  rivers  run. 

And  now  for  the  kiss  of  the  wind, 
And  the  touch  of  the  air's  soft  hands, 

With  the  rest  from  strife  and  the  heat  of  life, 
With  the  freedom  of  lakes  and  lands. 

I  envy  the  farmer's  boy 

Who  sings  as  he  follows  the  plow ; 
While  the  shining  green  of  the  young  blades  lean 

To  the  breezes  that  cool  his  brow. 

He  sings  to  the  dewy  morn, 

No  thought  of  another's  ear ; 
But  the  song  he  sings  is  a  chant  for  kings 
And  the  whole  wide  world  to  hear. 


In  Summer. 

He  sings  of  the  joys  of  life, 

Of  the  pleasures  of  work  and  rest, 

From  an  o'erfull  heart,  without  aim  or  art ; 
T  is  a  song  of  the  merriest. 

O  ye  who  toil  in  the  town, 

And  ye  who  moil  in  the  mart, 
Hear  the  artless  song,  and  your  faith  made  strong 

Shall  renew  your  joy  of  heart. 

Oh,  poor  were  the  worth  of  the  world 

If  never  a  song  were  heard,  — 
If  the  sting  of  grief  had  no  relief, 

And  never  a  heart  were  stirred. 

So,  long  as  the  streams  run  down, 

And  as  long  as  the  robins  trill, 
Let  us  taunt  old  Care  with  a  merry  air, 

And  sing  in  the  face  of  ill. 


Lyrics  of  the  Hearthside. 


THE    MYSTIC   SEA. 

THE  smell  of  the  sea  in  my  nostrils, 
The  sound  of  the  sea  in  mine  ears  ; 
The  touch  of  the  spray  on  my  burning  face, 
Like  the  mist  of  reluctant  tears. 

The  blue  of  the  sky  above  me, 

The  green  of  the  waves  beneath  ; 
The  sun  flashing  down  on  a  gray-white  sail 

Like  a  scimitar  from  its  sheath. 

And  ever  the  breaking  billows, 

And  ever  the  rocks'  disdain  ; 
And  ever  a  thrill  in  mine  inmost  heart 

That  my  reason  cannot  explain. 

So  I  say  to  my  heart,  "  Be  silent, 

The  mystery  of  time  is  here  ; 
Death's  way  will  be  plain  when  we  fathom  the 

main, 

And  the  secret  of  life  be  clear." 
10 


A  Sailor's  Song. 


A  SAILOR'S   SONG. 

OH  for  the  breath  of  the  briny  deep, 
And  the  tug  of  a  bellying  sail, 
With  the  sea-gull's  cry  across  the  sky 
And  a  passing  boatman's  hail. 
For,  be  she  fierce  or  be  she  gay, 
The  sea  is  a  famous  friend  alway. 

Ho  !  for  the  plains  where  the  dolphins  play, 
And  the  bend  of  the  mast  and  spars, 
And  a  fight  at  night  with  the  wild  sea-sprite 
When  the  foam  has  drowned  the  stars. 
And,  pray,  what  joy  can  the  landsman  feel 
Like  the  rise  and  fall  of  a  sliding  keel  ? 

Fair  is  the  mead  ;  the  lawn  is  fair 
And  the  birds  sing  sweet  on  the  lea ; 
But  the  echo  soft  of  a  song  aloft 
ii 


Lyrics  of  the  Hearthside. 

Is  the  strain  that  pleases  me  ; 

And  swish  of  rope  and  ring  of  chain 

Are  music  to  men  who  sail  the  main. 

Then,  if  you  love  me,  let  me  sail 

While  a  vessel  dares  the  deep ; 

For  the  ship  's  my  wife,  and  the  breath  of  life 

Are  the  raging  gales  that  sweep ; 

And  when  I  'm  done  with  calm  and  blast, 

A  slide  o'er  the  side,  and  rest  at  last. 


12 


The  Bohemian. 


THE    BOHEMIAN. 

BRING  me  the  livery  of  no  other  man. 
I  am  my  own  to  robe  me  at  my  pleasure. 
Accepted  rules  to  me  disclose  no  treasure : 
What  is  the  chief  who  shall  my  garments  plan  ? 
No  garb  conventional  but  I  '11  attack  it. 
(Come,  why  not  don  my  spangled  jacket?) 


Lyrics  of  the  Hearthside. 


ABSENCE. 

GOOD-NIGHT,  my  love,  for  I  have  dreamed 
of  thee 

In  waking  dreams,  until  my  soul  is  lost  — 
Is  lost  in  passion's  wide  and  shoreless  sea, 
Where,  like  a  ship,  unruddered,  it  is  tost 
Hither  and  thither  at  the  wild  waves'  will. 
There  is  no  potent  Master's  voice  to  still 
This  newer,  more  tempestuous  Galilee  ! 

The  stormy  petrels  of  my  fancy  fly 
In  warning  course  across  the  darkening  green, 
And,  like  a  frightened  bird,  my  heart  doth  cry 
And  seek  to  find  some  rock  of  rest  between 
The  threatening  sky  and  the  relentless  wave. 
It  is  not  length  of  life  that  grief  doth  crave, 
But  only  calm  and  peace  in  which  to  die. 
14 


Absence. 

Here  let  me  rest  upon  this  single  hope, 
For  oh,  my  wings  are  weary  of  the  wind, 
And  with  its  stress  no  more  may  strive  or  cope. 
One  cry  has  dulled  mine  ears,  mine  eyes  are 

blind,  - 

Would  that  o'er  all  the  intervening  space, 
I  might  fly  forth  and  see  thee  face  to  face. 
I  fly ;  I  search,  but,  love,  in  gloom  I  grope. 

Fly  home,  far  bird,  unto  thy  waiting  nest ; 
Spread  thy  strong  wings  above  the  wind-swept 

sea. 

Beat  the  grim  breeze  with  thy  unruffled  breast 
Until  thou  sittest  wing  to  wing  with  me. 
Then,  let  the  past  bring  up  its  tales  of  wrong ; 
We  shall  chant  low  our  sweet  connubial  song, 
Till  storm  and  doubt  and  past  no  more  shall  be  ! 


Lyrics  of  the  Hearthside. 


HER  THOUGHT   AND    HIS. 


gray  of  the  sea,  and  the  gray  of  the  sky, 
JL      A   glimpse  of    the   moon   like    a    half- 

closed  eye. 
The  gleam  on  the  waves  and  the  light  on  the 

land, 

A  thrill  in  my  heart,  —  and  —  my  sweetheart's 
hand. 

She  turned  from  the  sea  with  a  woman's  grace, 
And  the  light  fell  soft  on  her  upturned  face, 
And  I  thought  of  the  flood-tide  of  infinite  bliss 
That  would  flow  to  my  heart  from  a  single  kiss. 

But  my  sweetheart  was  shy,  so  I  dared  not  ask 
For  the  boon,  so  bravely  I  wore  the  mask. 
But  into  her  face  there  came  a  flame  :  — 
I  wonder  could   she   have   been  thinking  the 
same? 

16 


The  Right  to  Die. 


THE    RIGHT   TO    DIE. 

I   HAVE  no  fancy  for  that  ancient  cant 
That  makes  us  masters  of  our  destinies, 
And  not  our  lives,  to  hold  or  give  them  up 
As  will  directs ;  I  cannot,  will  not  think 
That  men,  the  subtle  worms,  who  plot  and  plan 
And  scheme  and  calculate  with  such  shrewd  wit, 
Are  such  great  blund'ring  fools  as  not  to  know 
When  they  have  lived  enough. 

Men  court  not  death 

When  there  are  sweets  still  left  in  life  to  taste. 
Nor  will  a  brave  man  choose  to  live  when  he, 
Full  deeply  drunk  of  life,  has  reached  the  dregs, 
And  knows  that  now  but  bitterness  remains. 
He  is  the  coward  who,  outfaced  in  this, 
Fears  the  false  goblins  of  another  life. 
I  honor  him  who  being  much  harassed 
Drinks  of  sweet  courage  until  drunk  of  it,  — 
Then  seizing  Death,  reluctant,  by  the  hand, 
Leaps  with  him,  fearless,  to  eternal  peace  ! 


Lyrics  of  the  Hearthside. 


BEHIND   THE   ARRAS. 

AS  in  some  dim  baronial  hall  restrained, 
A  prisoner  sits,  engirt  by  secret  doors 
And  waving  tapestries  that  argue  forth 
Strange  passages  into  the  outer  air ; 
So  in  this  dimmer  room  which  we  call  life, 
Thus  sits  the  soul  and  marks  with  eye  intent 
That  mystic  curtain  o'er  the  portal  death ; 
Still  deeming  that  behind  the  arras  lies 
The  lambent  way  that  leads  to  lasting  light. 
Poor  fooled  and  foolish  soul !     Know  now  that 

death 

Is  but  a  blind,  false  door  that  nowhere  leads, 
And  gives  no  hope  of  exit  final,  free. 


18 


When  the  Old  Man  Smokes. 


WHEN    THE   OLD    MAN    SMOKES. 

IN  the  forenoon's  restful  quiet, 
When  the  boys  are  off  at  school, 
When  the  window  lights  are  shaded 

And  the  chimney-corner  cool, 
Then  the  old  man  seeks  his  armchair, 

Lights  his  pipe  and  settles  back ; 
Falls  a-dreaming  as  he  draws  it 

Till  the  smoke-wreaths  gather  black. 

And  the  teardrops  come  a-trickling 

Down  his  cheeks,  a  silver  flow  — 
Smoke  or  memories  you  wonder, 

But  you  never  ask  him,  —  no  ; 
For  there  's  something  almost  sacred 

To  the  other  family  folks 
In  those  moods  of  silent  dreaming 

When  the  old  man  smokes. 


Lyrics  of  the  Hearthside. 

Ah,  perhaps  he  sits  there  dreaming 

Of  the  love  of  other  days 
And  of  how  he  used  to  lead  her 

Through  the  merry  dance's  maze ; 
How  he  called  her  "  little  princess," 

And,  to  please  her,  used  to  twine 
Tender  wreaths  to  crown  her  tresses, 

From  the  "  matrimony  vine." 

Then  before  his  mental  vision 

Comes,  perhaps,  a  sadder  day, 
When  they  left  his  little  princess 

Sleeping  with  her  fellow  clay. 
How  his  young  heart  throbbed,  and  pained 
him  ! 

Why,  the  memory  of  it  chokes  ! 
Is  it  of  these  things  he  's  thinking 

When  the  old  man  smokes  ? 

But  some  brighter  thoughts  possess  him, 
For  the  tears  are  dried  the  while. 

And  the  old,  worn  face  is  wrinkled 
In  a  reminiscent  smile, 
20 


When  the  Old  Man  Smokes. 

From  the  middle  of  the  foreiiead 

To  the  feebly  trembling  lip, 
At  some  ancient  prank  remembered 

Or  some  long  unheard-of  quip. 

Then  the  lips  relax  their  tension 

And  the  pipe  begins  to  slide, 
Till  in  little  clouds  of  ashes, 

It  falls  softly  at  his  side ; 
And  his  head  bends  low  and  lower 

Till  his  chin  lies  on  his  breast, 
And  he  sits  in  peaceful  slumber 

Like  a  little  child  at  rest. 

Dear  old  man,  there  's  something  sad'ning, 

In  these  dreamy  moods  of  yours, 
Since  the  present  proves  so  fleeting, 

All  the  past  for  you  endures. 
Weeping  at  forgotten  sorrows, 

Smiling  at  forgotten  jokes  ; 
Life  epitomized  in  minutes, 

When  the  old  man  smokes. 


21 


Lyrics  of  the  Hearthside. 


THE    GARRET. 

WITHIN  a  London  garret  high, 
Above  the  roofs  and  near  the  sky, 
My  ill-rewarding  pen  I  ply 

To  win  me  bread. 
This  little  chamber,  six  by  four, 
Is  castle,  study,  den,  and  more,  — 
Altho'  no  carpet  decks  the  floor, 
Nor  down,  the  bed. 

My  room  is  rather  bleak  and  bare  ; 

I  only  have  one  broken  chair, 

But  then,  there  's  plenty  of  fresh  air,  — 

Some  light,  beside. 
What  tho'  I  cannot  ask  my  friends 
To  share  with  me  my  odds  and  ends, 
A  liberty  my  aerie  lends, 

To  most  denied. 

22 


The  Garret. 

The  bore  who  falters  at  the  stair 

No  more  shall  be  my  curse  and  care, 

And  duns  shall  fail  to  find  my  lair 

With  beastly  bills. 

When  debts  have  grown  and  funds  are  short, 
I  find  it  rather  pleasant  sport 
To  live  "  above  the  common  sort " 

With  all  their  ills. 

I  write  my  rhymes  and  sing  away, 
And  dawn  may  come  or  dusk  or  day : 
Tho'  fare  be  poor,  my  heart  is  gay, 

And  full  of  glee. 

Though  chimney-pots  be  all  my  views'; 
'T  is  nearer  for  the  winging  Muse, 
So  I  am  sure  she  '11  not  refuse 

To  visit  me. 


Lyrics  of  the  Hearthside. 
TO    E.  H.  K. 

ON   THE    RECEIPT    OF    A    FAMILIAR    POEM. 

TO  me,  like  hauntings  of  a  vagrant  breath 
From  some  far  forest  which  I  once  have 

known, 

The  perfume  of  this  flower  of  verse  is  blown. 
Tho'  seemingly  soul-blossoms  faint  to  death, 
Naught  that  with  joy  she  bears  e'er  withereth. 
So,  tho'  the  pregnant  years  have  come  and 

flown, 
Lives  come  and  gone  and  altered  like  mine 

own, 
This  poem  comes  to  me  a  shibboleth : 

Brings  sound  of  past  communings  to  my  ear, 
Turns  round  the  tide  of  time  and  bears  me 

back 

Along  an  old  and  long  untraversed  way ; 
Makes  me  forget  this  is  a  later  year, 

Makes  me  tread  o'er  a  reminiscent  track, 
Half  sad,  half  glad,  to  one  forgotten  day  ! 
24 


A  Bridal  Measure. 


A   BRIDAL   MEASURE. 

COME,  essay  a  sprightly  measure, 
Tuned  to  some  light  song  of  pleasure. 
Maidens,  let  your  brows  be  crowned 
As  we  foot  this  merry  round. 

From  the  ground  a  voice  is  singing, 
From  the  sod  a  soul  is  springing. 
Who  shall  say  't  is  but  a  clod 
Quick'ning  upward  toward  its  God? 

Who  shall  say  it  ?     Who  may  know  it, 
That  the  clod  is  not  a  poet 

Waiting  but  a  gleam  to  waken 

In  a  spirit  music-shaken? 

Phyllis,  Phyllis,  why  be  waiting? 
In  the  woods  the  birds  are  mating. 

From  the  tree  beside  the  wall, 

Hear  the  am'rous  robin  call. 
25 


Lyrics  of  the  Hearthside. 

Listen  to  yon  thrush's  trilling ; 
Phyllis,  Phyllis,  are  you  willing, 

When  love  speaks  from  cave  and  tree, 

Only  we  should  silent  be  ? 

When  the  year,  itself  renewing, 
All  the  world  with  flowers  is  strewing, 
Then  through  Youth's  Arcadian  land, 
Love  and  song  go  hand  in  hand. 

Come,  unfold  your  vocal  treasure, 
Sing  with  me  a  nuptial  measure,  — 
Let  this  springtime  gambol  be 
Bridal  dance  for  you  and  me. 


26 


Vengeance  is  Sweet. 


VENGEANCE   IS  SWEET. 


WrHEN  I  was  young  I  longed  for  Love, 
And  held  his  glory  far  above 
All  other  earthly  things.     I  cried  : 
"  Come,  Love,  dear  Love,  with  me  abide  ;  " 
And  with  my  subtlest  art  1  wooed, 
And  eagerly  the  wight  pursued. 
But  Love  was  gay  and  Love  was  shy, 
He  laughed  at  me  and  passed  me  by. 

Well,  I  grew  old  and  I  grew  gray, 
When  Wealth  came  wending  down  my  way. 
I  took  his  golden  hand  with  glee, 
And  comrades  from  that  day  were  we. 
Then  Love  came  back  with  doleful  face, 
And  prayed  that  I  would  give  him  place. 
But,  though  his  eyes  with  tears  were  dim, 
I  turned  my  back  and  laughed  at  him. 


27 


Lyrics  of  the  Hearthside. 
A  HYMN. 

AFTER   READING  "  LEAD,   KINDLY   LIGHT." 

T  E AD  gently,  Lord,  and  slow, 
JL/  For  oh,  my  steps  are  weak, 
And  ever  as  I  go, 

Some  soothing  sentence  speak ; 

That  I  may  turn  my  face 
Through  doubt's  obscurity 

Toward  thine  abiding-place, 
E'en  tho'  I  cannot  see. 

For  lo,  the  way  is  dark ; 

Through  mist  and  cloud  I  grope, 
Save  for  that  fitful  spark, 

The  little  flame  of  hope. 

Lead  gently,  Lord,  and  slow, 

For  fear  that  I  may  fall ; 
I  know  not  where  to  go 

Unless  I  hear  thy  call. 
28 


A  Hymn. 

My  fainting  soul  doth  yearn 
For  thy  green  hills  afar ; 

So  let  thy  mercy  burn  — 
My  greater,  guiding  star  ! 


Lyrics  of  the  Hearthside. 


JUST  WHISTLE   A   BIT. 

JUST  whistle  a  bit,  if  the  day  be  dark, 
And  the  sky  be  overcast : 
If  mute  be  the  voice  of  the  piping  lark, 
Why,  pipe  your  own  small  blast. 

And  it 's  wonderful  how  o'er  the  gray  sky-track 
The  truant  warbler  comes  stealing  back. 
But  why  need  he  come  ?  for  your  soul 's  at  rest, 
And  the  song  in  the  heart,  —  ah,  that  is  best. 

Just  whistle  a  bit,  if  the  night  be  drear 

And  the  stars  refuse  to  shine : 
And  a  gleam  that  mocks  the  starlight  clear 

Within  you  glows  benign. 

Till  the  dearth  of  light  in  the  glooming  skies 
Is  lost  to  the  sight  of  your  soul-lit  eyes. 
What  matters  the  absence  of  moon  or  star? 
The  light  within  is  the  best  by  far. 


Just  Whistle  a  Bit. 

Just  whistle  a  bit,  if  there  's  work  to  do, 

With  the  mind  or  in  the  soil. 
And  your  note  will  turn  out  a  talisman  true 

To  exorcise  grim  Toil. 

It  will  lighten  your  burden  and  make  you  feel 
That  there  's  nothing  like  work  as  a  sauce  for  a 

meal. 
And  with  song  in  your  heart  and  the  meal  in  — 

its  place, 
There  '11  be  joy  in  your  bosom  and  light  in  your 

face. 

Just  whistle  a  bit,  if  your  heart  be  sore  ; 

'T  is  a  wonderful  balm  for  pain. 
Just  pipe  some  old  melody  o'er  and  o'er 

Till  it  soothes  like  summer  rain. 

And  perhaps  'twould  be  best  in  a  later  day, 
When  Death  comes  stalking  down  the  way, 
To  knock  at  your  bosom  and  see  if  you  're  fit, 
Then,  as  you  wait  calmly,  just  whistle  a  bit. 


Lyrics  of  the  Hearthside. 


THE  BARRIER. 

THE  Midnight  wooed  the  Morning-Star, 
And  prayed  her :  "  Love  come  nearer ; 
Your  swinging  coldly  there  afar 
To  me  but  makes  you  dearer  !  " 

The  Morning-Star  was  pale  with  dole 

As  said  she,  low  replying  : 
"  Oh,  lover  mine,  soul  of  my  soul, 

For  you  I  too  am  sighing. 

"  But  One  ordained  when  we  were  born, 

In  spite  of  Love's  insistence, 
That  Night  might  only  view  the  Morn 

Adoring  at  a  distance." 

But  as  she  spoke  the  jealous  Sun 

Across  the  heavens  panted. 
"  Oh,  whining  fools,"  he  cried,  "  have  done ; 

Your  wishes  shall  be  granted  !  " 
32 


The  Barrier. 

He  hurled  his  flaming  lances  far ; 

The  twain  stood  unarTrighted  — 
And  midnight  and  the  Morning-Star 

Lay  down  in  death  united  ! 


33 


Lyrics  of  the  Hearthside. 


DREAMS. 

DREAM  on,  for  dreams  are  sweet 
Do  not  awaken  ! 
Dream  on,  and  at  thy  feet 
Pomegranates  shall  be  shaken. 

Who  likeneth  the  youth 

Of  life  to  morning  ? 
'T  is  like  the  night  in  truth, 

Rose-coloured  dreams  adorning. 

The  wind  is  soft  above, 

The  shadows  umber. 
(There  is  a  dream  called  Love.) 

Take  thou  the  fullest  slumber ! 

In  Lethe's  soothing  stream, 

Thy  thirst  thou  slakest. 
Sleep,  sleep ;  't  is  sweet  to  dream. 

Oh,  weep  when  thou  awakest ! 
34 


The  Dreamer. 


THE    DREAMER. 

TEMPLES  he  built  and  palaces  of  air, 
And,  with  the  artist's  parent-pride  aglow, 
His  fancy  saw  his  vague  ideals  grow 
Into  creations  marvellously  fair ; 
He  set  his  foot  upon  Fame's  nether  stair. 

But  ah,  his  dream,  —  it  had  entranced  him  so 
He  could  not  move.    He  could  no  farther  go ; 
But  paused  in  joy  that  he  was  even  there  ! 

He  did  not  wake  until  one  day  there  gleamed 
Thro'    his    dark   consciousness    a    light   that 

racked 

His  being  till  he  rose,  alert  to  act. 
But  lo  !    what  he  had  dreamed,   the  while    he 

dreamed, 

Another,  wedding  action  unto  thought, 
Into  the  living,  pulsing  world  had  brought. 


35 


Lyrics  of  the  Hearthside. 


WAITING. 

THE  sun  has  slipped  his  tether 
And  galloped  down  the  west. 
(Oh,  it 's  weary,  weary  waiting,  love.) 
The  little  bird  is  sleeping 

In  the  softness  of  its  nest. 
Night  follows  day,  day  follows  dawn, 
And  so  the  time  has  come  and  gone : 
And  it 's  weary,  weary  waiting,  love. 

The  cruel  wind  is  rising 

With  a  whistle  and  a  wail. 
(And  it 's  weary,  weary  waiting,  love.) 
My  eyes  are  seaward  straining 

For  the  coming  of  a  sail ; 
But  void  the  sea,  and  void  the  beach 
Far  and  beyond  where  gaze  can  reach  ! 

And  it 's  weary,  weary  waiting,  love. 

36 


Waiting. 

I  heard  the  bell-buoy  ringing  — 

How  long  ago  it  seems  ! 
(Oh,  it 's  weary,  weary  waiting,  love.) 
And  ever  still,  its  knelling 

Crashes  in  upon  my  dreams. 
The  banns  were  read,  my  frock  was  sewn ; 
Since  then  two  seasons'  winds  have  blown 

And  it 's  weary,  weary  waiting,  love. 

The  stretches  of  the  ocean 

Are  bare  and  bleak  to-day. 
(Oh,  it 's  weary,  weary  waiting,  love.) 
My  eyes  are  growing  dimmer  — 

Is  it  tears,  or  age,  or  spray  ? 
But  I  will  stay  till  you  come  home. 
Strange  ships  come  in  across  the  foam  ! 

But  it 's  weary,  weary  waiting,  love. 


37 


Lyrics  of  the  Hearthside. 


THE   END   OF  THE  CHAPTER. 

AH,  yes,  the  chapter  ends  to-day ; 
We  even  lay  the  book  away ; 
But  oh,  how  sweet  the  moments  sped 
Before  the  final  page  was  read  ! 

We  tried  to  read  between  the  lines 
The  Author's  deep-concealed  designs  ; 
But  scant  reward  such  search  secures ; 
You  saw  my  heart  and  I  saw  yours. 

The  Master,  —  He  who  penned  the  page 
And  bade  us  read  it,  —  He  is  sage  : 
And  what  he  orders,  you  and  I 
Can  but  obey,  nor  question  why. 

We  read  together  and  forgot 

The  world  about  us.     Time  was  not. 

Unheeded  and  unfelt,  it  fled. 

We  read  and  hardly  knew  we  read. 

38 


The  End  of  the  Chapter. 

Until  beneath  a  sadder  sun, 
We  came  to  know  the  book  was  done. 
Then,  as  our  minds  were  but  new  lit, 
It  dawned  upon  us  what  was  writ ; 

And  we  were  startled.     In  our  eyes, 
Looked  forth  the  light  of  great  surprise. 
Then  as  a  deep-toned  tocsin  tolls, 
A  voice  spoke  forth  :  "  Behold  your  souls  !  " 

I  do,  I  do.     I  cannot  look 
Into  your  eyes  :  so  close  the  book. 
But  brought  it  grief  or  brought  it  bliss, 
No  other  page  shall  read  like  this  ! 


39 


Lyrics  of  the  Hearthside. 


SYMPATHY. 

I  KNOW  what  the  caged  bird  feels,  alas  ! 
When   the    sun   is   bright  on  the  upland 

slopes ; 
When  the  wind  stirs  soft  through  the  springing 

grass, 

And  the  river  flows  like  a  stream  of  glass ; 
When  the  first  bird  sings  and  the  first  bud 

opes, 

And  the  faint  perfume  from  its  chalice  steals  — 
I  know  what  the  caged  bird  feels  ! 

I  know  why  the  caged  bird  beats  his  wing 
Till  its  blood  is  red  on  the  cruel  bars  ; 

For  he  must  fly  back  to  his  perch  and  cling 

When  he  fain  would  be  on  the  bough  a-swing ; 
And  a  pain  still  throbs  in  the  old,  old  scars 

And  they  pulse  again  with  a  keener  sting  — 

I  know  why  he  beats  his  wing  ! 
40 


Sympathy. 

I  know  why  the  caged  bird  sings,  ah  me, 

When   his  wing   is   bruised   and  his  bosom 

sore,  — 

When  he  beats  his  bars  and  he  would  be  free ; 
It  is  not  a  carol  of  joy  or  glee, 

But  a  prayer  that  he  sends  from  his   heart's 

deep  core, 

But  a  plea,  that  upward  to  Heaven  he  flings  — 
I  know  why  the  caged  bird  sings  ! 


Lyrics  of  the  Hearthside. 


LOVE  AND   GRIEF. 

OUT  of  my  heart,  one  treach'rous  winter's 
day, 

I  locked  young  Love  and  threw  the  key  away. 
Grief,  wandering  widely,  found  the  key, 
And  hastened  with  it,  straightway,  back  to  me, 
With  Love  beside  him.     He  unlocked  the  door 
And  bad  Love  enter  with  him  there  and  stay. 
And  so  the  twain  abide  for  evermore. 

LOVE'S   CHASTENING. 

Once  Love  grew  bold  and  arrogant  of  air, 
Proud  of  the  youth  that  made  him  fresh  and 

fair; 

So  unto  Grief  he  spake,  '*  What  right  hast  thou 
To  part  or  parcel  of  this  heart?  "     Griefs  brow 
Was  darkened  with  the  storm  of  inward  strife ; 
Thrice  smote  he  Love  as  only  he  might  dare, 
And  Love,  pride  purged,  was  chastened  all  his 

life. 

42 


Mortality. 


MORTALITY. 

ASHES  to  ashes,  dust  unto  dust, 
What  of  his  loving,  what  of  his  lust  ? 
What  of  his  passion,  what  of  his  pain  ? 
What  of  his  poverty,  what  of  his  pride  ? 
Earth,  the  great  mother,  has  called  him  again : 
Deeply  he  sleeps,  the  world's  verdict  defied. 
Shall  he  be  tried  again  ?     Shall  he  go  free  ? 
Who  shall  the  court  convene  ?  Where  shall  it  be  ? 
No  answer  on  the  land,  none  from  the  sea. 
Only  we  know  that  as  he  did,  we  must : 
You  with  your  theories,  you  with  your  trust,  — 
Ashes  to  ashes,  dust  unto  dust ! 


43 


Lyrics  of  the  Hearthside. 


LOVE. 

A  LIFE  was  mine  full  of  the  close  concern 
Of  many-voiced  affairs.     The  world  sped 

fast; 

Behind  me,  ever  rolled  a  pregnant  past. 
A  present  came  equipped  with  lore  to  learn. 
Art,  science,  letters,  in  their  turn, 

Each  one  allured  me  with  its  treasures  vast ; 
And  I  staked  all  for  wisdom,  till  at  last 
Thou  cam'st  and  taught  my  soul  anew  to  yearn. 

I  had  not  dreamed  that  I  could  turn  away 
From  all   that  men  with  brush   and   pen  had 

wrought ; 

But  ever  since  that  memorable  day 
When  to  my  heart  the  truth  of  love  was  brought, 

I  have  been  wholly  yielded  to  its  sway, 
And  had  no  room  for  any  other  thought. 


44 


She  Gave  Me  a  Rose. 


SHE   GAVE    ME   A    ROSE. 

SHE  gave  me  a  rose, 
And  I  kissed  it  and  pressed  it. 
I  love  her,  she  knows, 

And  my  action  confessed  it. 
She  gave  me  a  rose, 

And  I  kissed  it  and  pressed  it. 

Ah,  how  my  heart  glows, 

Could  I  ever  have  guessed  it? 

It  is  fair  to  suppose 

That  I  might  have  repressed  it : 

She  gave  me  a  rose, 

And  I  kissed  it  and  pressed  it. 

'Twas  a  rhyme  in  life's  prose 
That  uplifted  and  blest  it. 

Man's  nature,  who  knows 
Until  love  comes  to  test  it? 

She  gave  me  a  rose, 

And  I  kissed  it  and  pressed  it. 
45 


Lyrics  of  the  Hearthside. 


DREAM   SONG.     I. 

LONG  years  ago,  within  a  distant  clime, 
Ere  Love  had  touched  me  with  his  wand 

sublime, 

I  dreamed  of  one  to  make  my  life's  calm  May 
The  panting  passion  of  a  summer's  day. 
And  ever  since,  in  almost  sad  suspense, 
I  have  been  waiting  with  a  soul  intense 
To  greet  and  take  unto  myself  the  beams, 
Of  her,  my  star,  the  lady  of  my  dreams. 

O  Love,  still  longed  and  looked  for,  come  to 

me, 

Be  thy  far  home  by  mountain,  vale,  or  sea. 
My  yearning  heart  may  never  find  its  rest 
Until  thou  liest  rapt  upon  my  breast. 
The  wind  may  bring  its  perfume  from  the  south, 
Is  it  so  sweet  as  breath  from  my  love's  mouth? 
Oh,  naught  that  surely  is,  and  naught  that  seems 
May  turn  me  from  the  lady  of  my  dreams. 
46 


Dream  Song.      II. 


DREAM   SONG.    II. 

PRAY,  what  can  dreams  avail 
To  make  love  or  to  mar? 
The  child  within  the  cradle  rail 
Lies  dreaming  of  the  star. 
But  is  the  star  by  this  beguiled 
To  leave  its  place  and  seek  the  child  ? 

The  poor  plucked  rose  within  its  glass 
Still  dreameth  of  the  bee  ; 

But,  tho'  the  lagging  moments  pass, 
Her  Love  she  may  not  see. 

If  dream  of  child  and  flower  fail, 

Why  should  a  maiden's  dreams  prevail  ? 


47 


Lyrics  of  the  Heart hside. 


CHRISTMAS    IN    THE    HEART. 

THE  snow  lies  deep  upon  the  ground, 
And  winter's  brightness  all  around 
Decks  bravely  out  the  forest  sere, 
With  jewels  of  the  brave  old  year. 
The  coasting  crowd  upon  the  hill 
With  some  new  spirit  seems  to  thrill ; 
And  all  the  temple  bells  achime 
Ring  out  the  glee  of  Christmas  time. 

In  happy  homes  the  brown  oak-bough 
Vies  with  the  red-gemmed  holly  now ; 
And  here  and  there,  like  pearls,  there  show 
The  berries  of  the  mistletoe. 
A  sprig  upon  the  chandelier 
Says  to  the  maidens,  "  Come  not  here  !  " 
Even  the  pauper  of  the  earth 
Some  kindly  gift  has  cheered  to  mirth  ! 
48 


Christmas  in  the  Heart. 

Within  his  chamber,  dim  and  cold, 

There  sits  a  grasping  miser  old. 

He  has  no  thought  save  one  of  gain,  — 

To  grind  and  gather  and  grasp  and  drain. 

A  peal  of  bells,  a  merry  shout 

Assail  his  ear :  he  gazes  out 

Upon  a  world  to  him  all  gray, 

And  snarls,  "  Why,  this  is  Christmas  Day !  " 

No,  man  of  ice,  —  for  shame,  for  shame  ! 
For  "  Christmas  Day  "  is  no  mere  name. 
No,  not  for  you  this  ringing  cheer, 
This  festal  season  of  the  year. 
And  not  for  you  the  chime  of  bells 
From  holy  temple  rolls  and  swells. 
In  day  and  deed  he  has  no  part  — 
Who  holds  not  Christmas  in  his  heart  ! 


49 


Lyrics  of  the  Hearthside. 


THE   KING   IS   DEAD. 

AYE,  lay  him  in   his  grave,  the  old  dead 
year! 

His  life  is  lived  —  fulfilled  his  destiny. 
Have  you  for  him  no  sad,  regretful  tear 
To  drop  beside  the  cold,  unfollowed  bier? 
Can  you  not  pay  the  tribute  of  a  sigh  ? 

Was  he  not  kind  to  you,  this  dead  old  year? 
Did  he  not  give  enough  of  earthly  store  ? 
Enough  of  love,  and  laughter,  and  good  cheer  ? 
Have  not  the  skies  you  scanned  sometimes  been 

clear  ? 
How,  then,  of  him   who   dies,  could  you  ask 

more? 

It  is  not  well  to  hate  him  for  the  pain 
He  brought  you,  and  the  sorrows  manifold. 
To  pardon  him  these  hurts  still  I  am  fain ; 
5° 


The  King  is  Dead. 

For  in  the  panting  period  of  his  reign, 
He  brought  me  new  wounds,  but  he  healed  the 
old. 

One  little  sigh  for  thee,  my  poor,  dead  friend  — 
One  little  sigh  while  my  companions  sing. 
Thou  art  so  soon  forgotten  in  the  end ; 
We  cry  e'en  as  thy  footsteps  downward  tend : 
"  The  king  is  dead  !  long  live  the  king  !  " 


Lyrics  of  the  Hearthside. 


THEOLOGY. 

is  a  heaven,  for  ever,  day  by  day, 
JL      The  upward  longing  of  my  soul  doth  tell 

me  so. 

There  is  a  hell,  I  'm  quite  as  sure  ;  for  pray, 
If  there   were   not,   where   would   my   neigh 
bours  go  ? 


52 


Resignation. 


RESIGNATION. 

LONG  had  I  grieved  at  what  I  deemed  abuse  ; 
But  now  I  am  as  grain  within  the  mill. 
If  so  be  thou  must  crush  me  for  thy  use, 
Grind  on,  O  potent  God,  and  do  thy  will ! 


53 


Lyrics  of  the  Hearthside. 


LOVE'S   HUMILITY. 

AS  some  rapt  gazer  on  the  lowly  earth, 
Looks  up  to  radiant  planets,  ranging  far, 
So  I,  whose  soul  doth  know  thy  wondrous  worth 
Look  longing  up  to  thee  as  to  a  star. 


54 


Precedent. 


PRECEDENT. 

'"TVHE  poor  man  went  to  the  rich  man's  doors, 

JL  "I  come  as  Lazarus  came,"  he  said. 
The  rich  man  turned  with  humble  head,  — 
"  I  will  send  my  dogs  to  lick  your  sores  !  " 


55 


Lyrics  of  the  Hearthside. 


SHE  TOLD    HER    BEADS. 

SHE  told  her  beads  with  downcast  eyes, 
Within  the  ancient  chapel  dim ; 

And  ever  as  her  fingers  slim 
Slipt  o'er  th'  insensate  ivories, 
My  rapt  soul  followed,  spaniel-wise. 
Ah,  many  were  the  beads  she  wore ; 

But  as  she  told  them  o'er  and  o'er, 
They  did  not  number  all  my  sighs. 
My  heart  was  filled  with  unvoiced  cries 

And  prayers  and  pleadings  unexpressed ; 

But  while  I  burned  with  Love's  unrest, 
She  told  her  beads  with  downcast  eyes. 


Little  Lucy  Landman. 


LITTLE    LUCY    LANDMAN. 

OH,  the  day  has  set  me  dreaming 
In  a  strange,  half  solemn  way 
Of  the  feelings  I  experienced 

On  another  long  past  day,  — 
Of  the  way  my  heart  made  music 
When  the  buds  began  to  blow, 
And  o'  little  Lucy  Landman 
Whom  I  loved  long  years  ago. 

It 's  in  spring,  the  poet  tells  us, 

That  we  turn  to  thoughts  of  love, 
And  our  hearts  go  out  a-wooing 

With  the  lapwing  and  the  dove. 
But  whene'er  the  soul  goes  seeking 

Its  twin-soul,  upon  the  wing, 
I  've  a  notion,  backed  by  mem'ry, 

That  it 's  love  that  makes  the  spring. 
57 


Lyrics  of  the  Hearthside. 

I  have  heard  a  robin  singing 

When  the  boughs  were  brown  and  bare, 
And  the  chilling  hand  of  winter 

Scattered  jewels  through  the  air. 
And  in  spite  of  dates  and  seasons, 

It  was  always  spring,  I  know, 
When  I  loved  Lucy  Landman 

In  the  days  of  long  ago. 


Ah,  my  little  Lucy  Landman, 

I  remember  you  as  well 
As  if  't  were  only  yesterday 

I  strove  your  thoughts  to  tell,  - 
When  I  tilted  back  your  bonnet, 

Looked  into  your  eyes  so  true, 
Just  to  see  if  you  were  loving 

Me  as  I  was  loving  you. 

Ah,  my  little  Lucy  Landman 
It  is  true  it  was  denied 

You  should  see  a  fuller  summer 
And  an  autumn  by  my  side. 

58 


Little  Lucy  Landman. 

But  the  glance  of  love's  sweet  sunlight 
Which  your  eyes  that  morning  gave 

Has  kept  spring  within  my  bosom, 
Though  you  lie  within  the  grave. 


59 


Lyrics  of  the  Hearthside. 


THE   GOURD. 

IN  the  heavy  earth  the  miner 
Toiled  and  laboured  day  by  day, 
Wrenching  from  the  miser  mountain 

Brilliant  treasure  where  it  lay. 
And  the  artist  worn  and  weary 

Wrought  with  labour  manifold 
That  the  king  might  drink  his  nectar 
From  a  goblet  made  of  gold. 

On  the  prince's  groaning  table 

Mid  the  silver  gleaming  bright 
Mirroring  the  happy  faces 

Giving  back  the  flaming  light, 
Shine  the  cups  of  priceless  crystal 

Chased  with  many  a  lovely  line, 
Glowing  now  with  warmer  colour, 

Crimsoned  by  the  ruby  wine. 
60 


The  Gourd. 

In  a  valley  sweet  with  sunlight, 

Fertile  with  the  dew  and  rain, 
Without  miner's  daily  labour, 

Without  artist's  nightly  pain, 
There  there  grows  the  cup  I  drink  from, 

Summer's  sweetness  in  it  stored, 
And  my  lips  pronounce  a  blessing 

As  they  touch  an  old  brown  gourd. 

Why,  the  miracle  at  Cana 

In  the  land  of  Galilee, 
Tho'  it  puzzles  all  the  scholars, 

Is  no  longer  strange  to  me. 
For  the  poorest  and  the  humblest 

Could  a  priceless  wine  afford, 
If  they  'd  only  dip  up  water 

With  a  sunlight-seasoned  gourd. 

So  a  health  to  my  old  comrade, 
And  a  song  of  praise  to  sing 

When  he  rests  inviting  kisses 
In  his  place  beside  the  spring. 
61 


Lyrics  of  the  Hearth-side. 

Give  the  king  his  golden  goblets, 
Give  the  prince  his  crystal  hoard ; 

But  for  me  the  sparkling  water 

From  a  brown  and  brimming  gourd  ! 


62 


The  Knight. 


THE   KNIGHT. 

OUR   good   knight,    Ted,  girds  his  broad 
sword  on 

(And  he  wields  it  well,  I  ween)  ; 
He  's  on  his  steed,  and  away  has  gone 

To  the  fight  for  king  and  queen. 
What  tho'  no  edge  the  broadsword  hath? 
What  tho'  the  blade  be  made  of  lath? 

'T  is  a  valiant  hand 

Tliat  wields  the  brand, 
So,  foeman,  clear  the  path  ! 

He  prances  off  at  a  goodly  pace ; 

'T  is  a  noble  steed  he  rides, 
That  bears  as  well  in  the  speedy  race 

As  he  bears  in  battle-tides. 
What  tho'  't  is  but  a  rocking-chair 
That  prances  with  this  stately  air? 

'T  is  a  warrior  bold 

The  reins  doth  hold, 
Who  bids  all  foes  beware  ! 

63 


Lyrics  of  the  Hearth  side. 


THOU   ART   MY   LUTE. 


art  my  lute,  by  thee  I  sing,  — 
-L       My  being  is  attuned  to  thee. 
Thou  settest  all  my  words  a-  wing, 
And  meltest  me  to  melody. 

Thou  art  my  life,  by  thee  I  live, 

From  thee  proceed  the  joys  I  know  ; 

Sweetheart,  thy  hand  has  power  to  give 
The  meed  of  love  —  the  cup  of  woe. 

Thou  art  my  love,  by  thee  I  lead 
My  soul  the  paths  of  light  along, 

From  vale  to  vale,  from  mead  to  mead, 
And  home  it  in  the  hills  of  song. 

My  song,  my  soul,  my  life,  my  all, 
Why  need  I  pray  or  make  my  plea, 

Since  my  petition  cannot  fall  ; 
For  I  'm  already  one  with  thee  1 
64 


The  Phantom  Kiss. 


THE   PHANTOM    KISS. 

ONE  night  in  my  room,  still  and  beamless, 
With  will  and  with  thought  in  eclipse, 
I  rested  in  sleep  that  was  dreamless ; 
When  softly  there  fell  on  my  lips 

A  touch,  as  of  lips  that  were  pressing 
Mine  own  with  the  message  of  bliss  — 

A  sudden,  soft,  fleeting  caressing, 
A  breath  like  a  maiden's  first  kiss. 

I  woke  —  and  the  scoffer  may  doubt  me  — 
I  peered  in  surprise  through  the  gloom ; 

But  nothing  and  none  were  about  me, 
And  I  was  alone  in  my  room. 

Perhaps  't  was  the  wind  that  caressed  me 
And  touched  me  with  dew-laden  breath ; 

Or,  maybe,  close-sweeping,  there  passed  me 
The  low-winging  Angel  of  Death. 
5  65 


Lyrics  of  the  Hearthside. 

Some  sceptic  may  choose  to  disdain  it, 
Or  one  feign  to  read  it  aright ; 

Or  wisdom  may  seek  to  explain  it  — 
This  mystical  kiss  in  the  night. 

But  rather  let  fancy  thus  clear  it : 
That,  thinking  of  me  here  alone, 

The  miles  were  made  naught,  and,  in  spirit, 
Thy  lips,  love,  were  laid  on  mine  own. 


66 


Communion. 


COMMUNION. 

IN  the  silence  of  my  heart, 
I  will  spend  an  hour  with  thee, 
When  my  love  shall  rend  apart 
All  the  veil  of  mystery  : 

All  that  dim  and  misty  veil 

That  shut  in  between  our  souls 

When  Death  cried,  "  Ho,  maiden,  hail !  " 
And  your  barque  sped  on  the  shoals. 

On  the  shoals?     Nay,  wrongly  said. 

On  the  breeze  of  Death  that  sweeps 
Far  from  life,  thy  soul  has  sped 

Out  into  unsounded  deeps. 

I  shall  take  an  hour  and  come 

Sailing,  darling,  to  thy  side. 
Wind  nor  sea  may  keep  me  from 

Soft  communings  with  my  bride. 
67 


Lyrics  of  the  Hearthside. 

I  shall  rest  my  head  on  thee 
As  I  did  long  days  of  yore, 

When  a  calm,  untroubled  sea 
Rocked  thy  vessel  at  the  shore. 

I  shall  take  thy  hand  in  mine, 
And  live  o'er  the  olden  days 

When  thy  smile  to  me  was  wine,  — 
Golden  wine  thy  word  of  praise, 

For  the  carols  I  had  wrought 

In  my  soul's  simplicity ; 
For  the  petty  beads  of  thought 

Which  thine  eyes  alone  could  see. 

Ah,  those  eyes,  love-blind,  but  keen 
For  my  welfare  and  my  weal ! 

Tho'  the  grave-door  shut  between, 
Still  their  love-lights  o'er  me  steal. 

I  can  see  thee  thro1  my  tears, 
As  thro'  rain  we  see  the  sun. 

What  tho'  cold  and  cooling  years 
Shall  their  bitter  courses  run,  — 
68 


Communion. 

I  shall  see  thee  still  and  be 

Thy  true  lover  evermore, 
And  thy  face  shall  be  to  me 

Dear  and  helpful  as  before. 

Death  may  vaunt  and  Death  may  boast, 
But  we  laugh  his  pow'r  to  scorn ; 

He  is  but  a  slave  at  most,  — 

Night  that  heralds  coming  morn. 

I  shall  spend  an  hour  with  thee 
Day  by  day,  my  little  bride. 

True  love  laughs  at  mystery, 

Crying,  "  Doors  of  Death,  fly  wide." 


Lyrics  of  the  Hearthside. 


MARE   RUBRUM. 

IN  Life's  Red  Sea  with  faith  I  plant  my  feet, 
And  wait  the  sound  of  that   sustaining 

word 

Which  long  ago  the  men  of  Israel  heard, 
When  Pharaoh's  host  behind  them,  fierce  and 

fleet, 
Raged  on,  consuming  with  revengeful  heat. 

Why  are  the  barrier  waters  still  unstirred  ? — 
That  struggling  faith  may  die  of  hope  de 
ferred? 
Is  God  not  sitting  in  His  ancient  seat  ? 

The  billows  swirl  above  my  trembling  limbs, 
And  almost  chill  my  anxious  heart  to  doubt 
And  disbelief,  long  conquered  and  defied. 
But  tho'  the  music  of  my  hopeful  hymns 
Is  drowned  by  curses  of  the  raging  rout, 
No    voice    yet   bids    th'   opposing  waves 
divide ! 

70 


In  An  English  Garden. 


IN   AN   ENGLISH   GARDEN. 

IN  this  old  garden,  fair,  I  walk  to-day 
Heart-charmed  with  all  the  beauty  of  the 

scene  : 

The  rich,  luxuriant  grasses'  cooling  green, 
The  wall's  environ,  ivy-decked  and  gray, 
The  waving  branches  with  the  wind  at  play, 

The  slight  and  tremulous  blooms  that  show 

between, 
Sweet  all :   and  yet  my  yearning  heart  doth 

lean 
Toward  Love's  Egyptian  flesh-pots  far  away. 

Beside  the  wall,  the  slim  Laburnum  grows 

And  flings  its  golden  flow'rs  to  every  breeze. 
But   e'en  among   such   soothing  sights    as 
these, 

I  pant  and  nurse  my  soul-devouring  woes. 

Of  all  the  longings  that  our  hearts  wot  of, 

There  is  no  hunger  like  the  want  of  love  ! 


Lyrics  of  the  Hearthside. 


THE  CRISIS 

A  MAN  of  low  degree  was  sore  oppressed, 
Fate  held  him  under  iron-handed  sway, 
And  ever,  those  who  saw  him  thus  distressed 
Would  bid  him  bend  his  stubborn  will  and 

pray. 

But  he,  strong  in  himself  and  obdurate, 
Waged,   prayerless,    on   his    losing   fight   with 
Fate. 

Friends  gave   his  proffered  hand  their  coldest 

clasp, 

Or  took  it  not  at  all ;  and  Poverty, 
That  bruised  his  body  with  relentless  grasp, 
Grinned,  taunting,  when  he  struggled  to  be 

free. 

But  though  with  helpless  hands  he  beat  the  air, 

His  need  extreme  yet  found  no  voice  in  prayer. 

72 


The  Crisis. 

Then    he    prevailed ;    and    forthwith    snobbish 

Fate, 
Like    some  whipped    cur,  came   fawning  at 

his  feet; 
Those    who    had    scorned    forgave    and    called 

him  great  — 
His    friends    found  out   that    friendship  still 

was  sweet. 

But  he,  once  obdurate,  now  bowed  his  head 
In  prayer,  and  trembling  with  its  import,  said  : 

"  Mere  human  strength  may  stand  ill-fortune's 
frown  ; 

So  I  prevailed,  for  human  strength  was  mine  ; 
But  from  the  killing  pow'r  of  great  renown, 

Naught  may  protect  me  save  a  strength  divine. 
Help  me,  O  Lord,  in  this  my  trembling  cause ; 
I  scorn  men's  curses,  but  I  dread  applause  !  " 


Lyrics  of  the  Hearthside. 


THE  CONQUERORS. 

THE    BLACK   TROOPS   IN    CUBA. 

ROUND  the  wide  earth,  from  the  red  field 
your  valour  has  won, 
Blown  with  the  breath  of  the  far-speaking  gun, 

Goes  the  word. 
Bravely  you  spoke  through  the  battle  cloud  heavy 

and  dun. 

Tossed   though    the    speech   toward   the    mist- 
hidden  sun, 

The  world  heard. 


Hell  would   have    shrunk    from  you  seeking  it 

fresh  from  the  fray, 

Grim  with  the  dust  of  the  battle,  and  gray 
From  the  fight. 
74 


The  Conquerors. 

Heaven  would  have  crowned  you,  with  crowns 

not  of  gold  but  of  bay, 
Owning  you  fit  for  the  light  of  her  day, 
Men  of  night. 

Far  through  the  cycle  of  years  and  of  lives  that 

shall  come, 
There  shall  speak  voices  long  muffled  and  dumb, 

Out  of  fear. 

And  through  the  noises  of  trade  and  the  turbu 
lent  hum, 

Truth  shall  rise  over  the  militant  drum, 
Loud  and  clear 

Then  on  the  cheek  of  the  honester  nation  that 

grows, 
All  for  their  love  of  you,  not  for  your  woes, 

There  shall  lie 
Tears  that  shall  be  to  your  souls  as  the  dew  to 

the  rose  ; 

Afterward  thanks,  that  the  present  yet  knows 
Not  to  ply  ! 


75 


Lyrics  of  the  Hearthside. 


ALEXANDER  CRUMMELL  — DEAD. 

BACK  to  the  breast  of  thy  mother, 
Child  of  the  earth  ! 
E'en  her  caress  can  not  smother 
What  thou  hast  done. 
Follow  the  trail  of  the  westering  sun 
Over  the  earth. 

Thy  light  and  his  were  as  one  — 
Sun,  in  thy  worth. 

Unto  a  nation  whose  sky  was  as  night, 
Camest  thou,  holily,  bearing  thy  light : 
And  the  dawn  came, 
In  it  thy  fame 
Flashed  up  in  a  flame. 

Back  to  the  breast  of  thy  mother  — 
To  rest. 

Long  hast  thou  striven ; 
76 


Alexander  Crummell  —  Dead. 

Dared  where  the  hills  by  the  lightning  of  heaven 

were  riven ; 
Go  now,  pure  shriven. 

Who  shall  come  after  thee,  out  of  the  clay 

Learned  one  and  leader  to  show  us  the  way? 
Who  shall  rise  up  when  the  world  gives  the  test? 
Think  thou  no  more  of  this  — 
Rest! 


77 


Lyrics  of  the  Hearthside. 


WHEN   ALL  IS   DONE 

WHEN   all    is  done,  and  my  last  word  is 
said, 

And  ye  who  loved  me  murmur,  "  He  is  dead," 
Let  no  one  weep,  for  fear  that  I  should  know, 
And  sorrow  too  that  ye  should  sorrow  so. 

When  all  is  done  and  in  the  oozing  clay, 
Ye  lay  this  cast-off  hull  of  mine  away, 
Pray  not  for  me,  for,  after  long  despair, 
The  quiet  of  the  grave  will  be  a  prayer. 

For  I  have  suffered  loss  and  grievous  pain, 
The  hurts  of  hatred  and  the  world's  disdain, 
And  wounds  so  deep  that  love,  well-tried  and 

pure, 

Had  not  the  pow'r  to  ease  them  or  to  cure. 
78 


When  All  is  Done. 

When  all  is  done,  say  not  my  day  is  o'er, 
And  that  thro'  night  I  seek  a  dimmer  shore 
Say  rather  that  my  morn  has  just  begun,  — 
I  greet  the  dawn  and  not  a  setting  sun, 
When  all  is  done. 


79 


Lyrics  of  the  Hearthside. 


THE  POET  AND   THE  BABY. 

HO W'S  a  man  to  write  a  sonnet,  can  you 
tell,  — 
How's   he   going   to   weave   the    dim,    poetic 

spell,  - 

When  a- toddling  on  the  floor 
Is  the  muse  he  must  adore, 
And  this  muse  he  loves,  not  wisely,  but  too 
well? 

Now,  to  write  a  sonnet,  every  one  allows, 
One  must  always  be  as  quiet  as  a  mouse ; 

But  to  write  one  seems  to  me 

Quite  superfluous  to  be, 
When  you  've  got  a  little  sonnet  in  the  house. 

Just  a  dainty  little  poem,  true  and  fine, 
That  is  full  of  love  and  life  in  every  line, 

Earnest,  delicate,  and  sweet, 

Altogether  so  complete 

That  I  wonder  what 's  the  use  of  writing  mine. 
80 


Distinction. 


DISTINCTION. 

;  T  AM  but  clay,"  the  sinner  plead, 
JL     Who  fed  each  vain  desire. 
Not  only  clay,"  another  said, 
"  But  worse,  for  thou  art  mire." 


81 


Lyrics  of  the  Hearthside. 


THE  SUM. 

A  LITTLE  dreaming  by  the  way, 
A  little  toiling  day  by  day ; 
A  little  pain,  a  little  strife, 
A  little  joy,  —  and  that  is  life. 

A  little  short-lived  summer's  morn, 
When  joy  seems  all  so  newly  born, 
When  one  day's  sky  is  blue  above, 
And  one  bird  sings,  —  and  that  is  love. 

A  little  sickening  of  the  years, 

The  tribute  of  a  few  hot  tears 

Two  folded  hands,  the  failing  breath, 

And  peace  at  last,  —  and  that  is  death. 

Just  dreaming,  loving,  dying  so, 
The  actors  in  the  drama  go  — 
A  flitting  picture  on  a  wall, 
Love,  Death,  the  themes ;  but  is  that  all? 
82 


Sonnet. 


SONNET. 

ON   AN    OLD    BOOK    WITH    UNCUT   LEAVES. 

EMBLEM  of  blasted  hope  and  lost  desire, 
No  finger  ever  traced  thy  yellow  page 
Save    Time's.       Thou    hast    not   wrought    to 

noble  rage 
The  hearts  thou  wouldst  have  stirred.     Not  any 

fire 

Save  sad  flames  set  to  light  a  funeral  pyre 
Dost  thou  suggest.     Nay.  —  impotent  in  age, 
Unsought,  thou  holdst  a  corner  of  the  stage 
And  ceasest  even  dumbly  to  aspire. 

How  different  was  the  thought  of  him  that  writ. 

What  promised  he  to  love  of  ease  and  wealth, 
When  men  should  read  and  kindle  at  his  wit. 

But  here  decay  eats  up  the  book  by  stealth, 
While  it,  like  some  old  maiden,  solemnly, 
Hugs  its  incongruous  virginity  ! 
83 


Lyrics  of  the  Hearthside. 


ON   THE  SEA  WALL. 

I  SIT  upon  the  old  sea  wall, 
And  watch  the  shimmering  sea, 
Where  soft  and  white  the  moonbeams  fall, 

Till,  in  a  fantasy, 

Some  pure  white  maiden's  funeral  pall 
The  strange  light  seems  to  me. 

The  waters  break  upon  the  shore 

And  shiver  at  my  feet, 
While  I  dream  old  dreams  o'er  and  o'er, 

And  dim  old  scenes  repeat ; 
Tho'  all  have  dreamed  the  same  before, 

They  still  seem  new  and  sweet. 

The  waves  still  sing  the  same  old  song 

That  knew  an  elder  time ; 
The  breakers'  beat  is  not  more  strong, 

Their  music  more  sublime  ; 
And  poets  thro'  the  ages  long 

Have  set  these  notes  to  rhyme. 
84 


On  the  Sea  Wall. 

But  this  shall  not  deter  my  lyre, 
Nor  check  my  simple  strain ; 

If  I  have  not  the  old-time  fire, 
I  know  the  ancient  pain  : 

The  hurt  of  unfulfilled  desire,  — 
The  ember  quenched  by  rain. 

I  know  the  softly  shining  sea 

That  rolls  this  gentle  swell 
Has  snarled  and  licked  its  tongues  at  me 

And  bared  its  fangs  as  well ; 
That  'neath  its  smile  so  heavenly, 

There  lurks  the  scowl  of  hell ! 

But  what  of  that  ?     I  strike  my  string 
(For  songs  in  youth  are  sweet)  ; 

I  '11  wait  and  hear  the  waters  bring 
Their  loud  resounding  beat ; 

Then,  in  her  own  bold  numbers  sing 
The  Ocean's  dear  deceit ! 


Lyrics  of  the  Hearthside. 


TO  A  LADY  PLAYING  THE  HARP. 

/T~^HY  tones  are  silver  melted  into  sound, 

A       And  as  I  dream 
I  see  no  walls  around, 

But  seem  to  hear 

A  gondolier 
Sing  sweetly  down  some  slow  Venetian  stream. 

Italian  skies  —  that  I  have  never  seen  — 

I  see  above. 
(Ah,  play  again,  my  queen ; 

Thy  fingers  white 

Fly  swift  and  light 
And  weave  for  me  the  golden  mesh  of  love.) 

Oh,  thou  dusk  sorceress  of  the  dusky  eyes 

And  soft  dark  hair, 
'T  is  thou  that  mak'st  my  skies 
86 


To  a  Lady  Playing  the  Harp. 

So  swift  to  change 
To  far  and  strange  ; 

But  far  and  strange,  thou  still  dost  make  them 
fair. 

Now  thou  dost  sing,  and  I  am  lost  in  thee 

As  one  who  drowns 
In  floods  of  melody. 

Still  in  thy  art 

Give  me  this  part, 
Till  perfect  love,  the  love  of  loving  crowns. 


Lyrics  of  the  Hearthside, 


CONFESSIONAL. 

SEARCH  thou  my  heart ; 
If  there  be  guile, 
It  shall  depart 
Before  thy  smile. 


Search  thou  my  soul ; 

Be  there  deceit, 
'T  will  vanish  whole 

Before  thee,  sweet. 


Upon  rny  mind 

Turn  thy  pure  lens ; 
Naught  shalt  thou  find 

Thou  canst  not  cleanse. 
88 


Confessional. 

If  I  should  pray, 
I  scarcely  know 

In  just  what  way 

My  prayers  would  go. 


So  strong  in  me 

I  feel  love's  leaven, 
I  'd  bow  to  thee 

As  soon  as  Heaven  ! 


Lyrics  of  the  Hearthside. 


MISAPPREHENSION. 

OUT  of  my  heart,  one  day,  I  wrote  a  song, 
With  my  heart's  blood  imbued, 
Instinct  with  passion,  tremulously  strong, 
With  grief  subdued ; 
Breathing  a  fortitude 

Pain-bought. 
And   one   who  claimed  much  love  for  what  I 

wrought, 
Read  and  considered  it, 

And  spoke : 
"  Ay,  brother,  —  tis  well  writ, 

But  where's  the  joke?" 


90 


Prometheus. 


PROMETHEUS. 

PROMETHEUS  stole  from  Heaven  the  sacred 
fire 

And  swept  to  earth  with  it  o'er  land  and  sea. 
He  lit  the  vestal  flames  of  poesy, 
Content,  for  this,  to  brave  celestial  ire. 

Wroth  were  the  gods,  and  with  eternal  hate 
Pursued  the  fearless  one  who  ravished  Heaven 
That  earth  might  hold  in  fee  the  perfect  leaven 

To  lift  men's  souls  above  their  low  estate. 

But  judge  you  now,  when  poets  wield  the  pen, 
Think  you  not  well  the  wrong  has  been  re 
paired  ? 

'Twas  all  in  vain  that  ill  Prometheus  fared  : 
The  fire  has  been  returned  to  Heaven  again  ! 
91 


Lyrics  of  the  Hearthside. 

We  have  no  singers  like  the  ones  whose  note 
Gave  challenge  to  the  noblest  warbler's  song. 
We  have  no  voice  so  mellow,  sweet,  and  strong 

As  that  which  broke  from  Shelley's  golden  throat. 

The  measure  of  our  songs  is  our  desires  : 
We  tinkle  where  old  poets  used  to  storm. 
We  lack  their  substance  tho'  we  keep  their 
form  : 

We  strum  our  banjo-strings  and  call  them  lyres. 


92 


Love's  Phases. 


LOVE'S    PHASES. 

LOVE  hath  the  wings  of  the  butterfly, 
Oh,  clasp  him  but  gently, 
Pausing  and  dipping  and  fluttering  by 

Inconsequently. 

Stir  not  his  poise  with  the  breath  of  a  sigh ; 
Love  hath  the  wings  of  the  butterfly. 

Love  hath  the  wings  of  the  eagle  bold, 

Cling  to  him  strongly  — 
What  if  the  look  of  the  world  be  cold, 

And  life  go  wrongly? 

Rest  on  his  pinions,  for  broad  is  their  fold ; 
Love  hath  the  wings  of  the  eagle  bold. 

Love  hath  the  voice  of  the  nightingale, 

Hearken  his  trilling  — 
List  to  his  song  when  the  moonlight  is  pale,- 

Passionate,  thrilling. 
93 


Lyrics  of  the  Hearthside. 

Cherish  the  lay,  ere  the  lilt  of  it  fail ; 
Love  hath  the  voice  of  the  nightingale. 

Love  hath  the  voice  of  the  storm  at  night, 

Wildly  defiant. 
Hear  him  and  yield  up  your  soul  to  his  might, 

Tenderly  pliant. 

None  shall  regret  him  who  heed  him  aright ; 
Love  hath  the  voice  of  the  storm  at  night. 


94 


For  the  Man  who  Fails. 


FOR  THE   MAN   WHO   FAILS. 

E  world  is  a  snob,  and  the  man  who  wins 
JL       Is  the  chap  for  its  money's  worth  : 
And  the  lust  for  success  causes  half  of  the  sins 

That  are  cursing  this  brave  old  earth. 
For  it 's  fine  to  go  up,  and  the  world's  applause 

Is  sweet  to  the  mortal  ear ; 
But  the  man  who  fails  in  a  noble  cause 
Is  a  hero  that 's  no  less  dear. 

T  is  true  enough  that  the  laurel  crown 

Twines  but  for  the  victor's  brow ; 
For  many  a  hero  has  lain  him  down 

With  naught  but  the  cypress  bough. 
There  are  gallant  men  in  the  losing  fight, 

And  as  gallant  deeds  are  done 
As  ever  graced  the  captured  height 

Or  the  battle  grandly  won. 
95 


Lyrics  of  the  Hearthside. 

We  sit  at  life's  board  with  our  nerves  highstrung, 

And  we  play  for  the  stake  of  Fame, 
And  our  odes  are  sung  and  our  banners  hung 

For  the  man  who  wins  the  game. 
But  I  have  a  song  of  another  kind 

Than  breathes  in  these  fame-wrought  gales,  — 
An  ode  to  the  noble  heart  and  mind 

Of  the  gallant  man  who  fails  ! 

The  man  who  is  strong  to  fight  his  fight, 

And  whose  will  no  front  can  daunt, 
If  the  truth  be  truth  and  the  right  be  right, 

Is  the  man  that  the  ages  want. 
Tho*  he  fail  and  die  in  grim  defeat, 

Yet  he  has  not  fled  the  strife, 
And  the  house  of  Earth  will  seem  more  sweet 

For  the  perfume  of  his  life. 


96 


Harriet  Beecher  Stowe. 


HARRIET   BEECHER  STOWE. 

SHE  told  the  story,  and  the  whole  world  wept 
At  wrongs  and  cruelties  it  had  not  known 
But  for  this  fearless  woman's  voice  alone. 
She  spoke  to  consciences  that  long  had  slept : 

Her  message,  Freedom's  clear  reveille,  swept 
From  heedless  hovel  to  complacent  throne. 
Command  and  prophecy  were  in  the  tone 
And  from  its  sheath  the  sword  of  justice  leapt. 

Around  two  peoples  swelled  a  fiery  wave, 

But    both  came  forth  transfigured   from   the 
flame. 

Blest  be  the  hand  that  dared  be  strong  to  save, 
And  blest  be  she  who  in  our  weakness  came  — 
Prophet  and  priestess  !    At  one  stroke  she  gave 
A  race  to  freedom  and  herself  to  fame. 


97 


Lyrics  of  the  Hearthside. 


VAGRANTS. 

LONG  time  ago,  we  two  set  out, 
My  soul  and  I. 
I  know  not  why, 

For  all  our  way  was  dim  with  doubt. 
I  know  not  where 
We  two  may  fare  : 

Though  still  with  every  changing  weather, 
We  wander,  groping  on  together. 

We  do  not  love,  we  are  not  friends, 

My  soul  and  I. 

He  lives  a  lie  ; 
Untruth  lines  every  way  he  wends. 

A  scoffer  he 

Who  jeers  at  me  : 

And  so,  my  comrade  and  my  brother, 
We  wander  on  and  hate  each  other. 


Vagrants. 

Ay,  there  be  taverns  and  to  spare, 

Beside  the  road ; 

But  some  strange  goad 
Lets  me  not  stop  to  taste  their  fare. 

Knew  I  the  goal 

Toward  which  my  soul 
And  I  made  way,  hope  made  life  fragrant 
But  no.     We  wander,  aimless,  vagrant ! 


99 


Lyrics  of  the  Hearthside. 


A  WINTER'S  DAY. 

ACROSS  the  hills  and  down  the  narrow  ways, 
And  up  the  valley  where  the  free  winds 
sweep, 

The  earth  is  folded  in  an  ermined  sleep 
That  mocks  the  melting  mirth  of  myriad  Mays. 
Departed  her  disheartening  duns  and  grays, 
And  all  her  crusty  black  is  covered  deep. 
Dark  streams  are  locked  in  Winter's  donjon- 
keep, 
And  made  to  shine  with  keen,  unwonted  rays. 

O  icy  mantle,  and  deceitful  snow  ! 

What  world-old  liars  in  your  hearts  ye  are  ! 

Are  there  not  still  the  darkened  seam  and  scar 
Beneath  the  brightness  that  you  fain  would  show  ? 
Come  from  the  cover  with  thy  blot  and  blur, 
O  reeking  Earth,  thou  whited  sepulchre  ! 


100 


My  Little  March  Girl. 


MY    LITTLE    MARCH    GIRL. 

COME  to  the  pane,  draw  the  curtain  apart, 
There  she  is  passing,  the  girl  of  my  heart ; 
See  where  she  walks  like  a  queen  in  the  street, 
Weather-defying,  calm,  placid  and  sweet. 
Tripping  along  with  impetuous  grace, 
Joy  of  her  life  beaming  out  of  her  face, 
Tresses  all  truant-like,  curl  upon  curl, 
Wind-blown  and  rosy,  my  little  March  girl. 

Hint  of  the  violet's  delicate  bloom, 
Hint  of  the  rose's  pervading  perfume  ! 
How  can  the  wind  help  from  kissing  her  face,— 
Wrapping  her  round  in  his  stormy  embrace? 
But  still  serenely  she  laughs  at  his  rout, 
She  is  the  victor  who  wins  in  the  bout. 
So  may  life's  passions  about  her  soul  swirl, 
Leaving  it  placid, —  my  little  March  girl. 
101 


Lyrics  of  the  Hearthside. 

What  self-possession  looks  out  of  her  eyes  ! 
What  are  the  wild  winds,  and  what  are  the  skies, 
Frowning  and  glooming  when,  brimming  with 

life, 

Cometh  the  little  maid  ripe  for  the  strife  ? 
Ah  !  Wind,  and  bah  !  Wind,  what  might  have 

you  now? 

What  can  you  do  with  that  innocent  brow? 
Blow,  Wind,  and  grow,  Wind,  and   eddy  and 

swirl, 
But  bring  her  to  me,  Wind, —  my  little  March 

girl. 


IO2 


Remembered. 


REMEMBERED. 

SHE  sang,  and  I  listened  the  whole  song  thro'. 
(It  was  sweet,  so  sweet,  the  singing.) 
The  stars  were  out  and  the  moon  it  grew 
From  a  wee  soft  glimmer  way  out  in  the  blue 
To  a  bird  thro'  the  heavens  winging. 

She  sang,  and  the  song  trembled  down  to  my 
breast,  — 

(It  was  sweet,  so  sweet  the  singing.) 
As  a  dove  just  out  of  its  fledgling  nest, 
And,  putting  its  wings  to  the  first  sweet  test, 

Flutters  homeward  so  wearily  winging. 

She  sang  and  I  said  to  my  heart,  "  That  song, 

That  was  sweet,  so  sweet  i'  the  singing, 
Shall  live  with  us  and  inspire  us  long, 
And  thou,  my  heart,  shalt  be  brave  and  strong 
For  the  sake  of  those  words  a-winging. 
103 


Lyrics  of  the  Hearthside. 

The  woman  died  and  the  song  was  still. 

(It  was  sweet,  so  sweet,  the  singing.) 
But  ever  I  hear  the  same  low  trill, 
Of  the  song  that  shakes  my  heart  with  a  thrill, 

And  goes  forever  winging. 


104 


Love  Despoiled. 


LOVE    DESPOILED. 

AS  lone  I  sat  one  summer's  day, 
With  mien  dejected,  Love  came  by ; 
His  face  distraught,  his  locks  astray, 
So  slow  his  gait,  so  sad  his  eye, 
I  hailed  him  with  a  pitying  cry : 

"  Pray,  Love,  what  has  disturbed  thee  so?  " 
Said  I,  amazed.    "  Thou  seem  'st  bereft ; 

And  see  thy  quiver  hanging  low, — 
What,  not  a  single  arrow  left? 
Pray,  who  is  guilty  of  this  theft?  " 

Poor  Love  looked  in  my  face  and  cried  : 
"  No  thief  were  ever  yet  so  bold 

To  rob  my  quiver  at  my  side. 

But  Time,  who  rules,  gave  ear  to  Gold, 
And  all  my  goodly  shafts  are  sold." 


Lyrics  of  the  Hearthside. 


THE    LAPSE. 

THIS  poem  must  be  done  to-day 
Then,  I  '11  e'en  to  it. 
I  must  not  dream  my  time  away,  — 

I  'm  sure  to  rue  it. 
The  day  is  rather  bright,  I  know 

The  Muse  will  pardon 
My  half-defection,  if  I  go 

Into  the  garden. 
It  must  be  better  working  there,  — 

I  'm  sure  it 's  sweeter  : 
And  something  in  the  balmy  air 

May  clear  my  metre. 

\Jn  the  Gar  den. ~\ 

Ah  this  is  noble,  what  a  sky ! 

What  breezes  blowing  ! 
The  very  clouds,  I  know  not  why, 

Call  one  to  rowing. 
106 


The  Lapse. 

The  stream  will  be  a  paradise 

To-day,  I  '11  warrant. 
I  know  the  tide  that  's  on  the  rise 

Will  seem  a  torrent ; 
I  know  just  how  the  leafy  boughs 

Are  all  a-quiver ; 
I  know  how  many  skiffs  and  scows 

Are  on  the  river. 
I  think  I  '11  just  go  out  awhile 

Before  I  write  it ; 
When  Nature  shows  us  such  a  smile, 

We  should  n't  slight  it. 
For  Nature  always  makes  desire 

By  giving  pleasure ; 
And  so  't  will  help  me  put  more  fire 

Into  my  measure. 

[  On  the  River.'} 

The  river  's  fine,  I  'm  glad  I  came, 

That  poem  's  teasing ; 
But  health  is  better  far  than  fame, 

Though  cheques  are  pleasing. 
107 


Lyrics  of  the  Hearthside. 

I  don't  know  what  I  did  it  for,  • 

This  air  's  a  poppy. 
I  'm  sorry  for  my  editor,  — 

He  '11  get  no  copy  ! 


108 


The  Warrior's  Prayer. 


THE   WARRIOR'S    PRAYER. 

LONG  since,  in  sore  distress,  I  heard   one 
pray, 

"  Lord,  who  prevailest  with  resistless  might, 
Ever  from  war  and  strife  keep  me  away, 
My  battles  fight !  " 

I  know  not  if  I  play  the  Pharisee, 

And  if  my  brother  after  all  be  right ; 
But  mine  shall  be  the  warrior's  plea  to  thee  — 
Strength  for  the  fight. 

I  do  not  ask  that  thou  shalt  front  the  fray, 

And  drive  the  warring  foeman  from  my  sight ; 
I  only  ask,  O  Lord,  by  night,  by  day, 
Strength  for  the  fight  ! 

When  foes  upon  me  press,  let  me  not  quail 
Nor  think  to  turn  me  into  coward  flight. 
I  only  ask,  to  make  mine  arms  prevail, 
Strength  for  the  fight ! 
109 


Lyrics  of  the  Hearthside. 

Still  let  mine  eyes  look  ever  on  the  foe, 

Still   let   mine   armor   case    me    strong   and 

bright ; 

And  grant  me,  as  I  deal  each  righteous  blow, 
Strength  for  the  fight ! 

And  when,  at  eventide,  the  fray  is  done, 

My   soul  to   Death's   bedchamber  do   thou 

light, 

And  give  me,  be  the  field  or  lost  or  won, 
Rest  from  the  fight ! 


no 


Farewell  to  Arcady. 


FAREWELL  TO  ARCADY. 

WITH  sombre  mien,  the  Evening  gray 
Comes  nagging  at  the  heels  of  Day, 
And  driven  faster  and  still  faster 
Before  the  dusky- mantled  Master, 
The  light  fades  from  her  fearful  eyes, 
She  hastens,  stumbles,  falls,  and  dies. 

Beside  me  Amaryllis  weeps ; 
The  swelling  tears  obscure  the  deeps 
Of  her  dark  eyes,  as,  mistily, 
The  rushing  rain  conceals  the  sea. 
Here,  lay  my  tuneless  reed  away,  — 
I  have  no  heart  to  tempt  a  lay. 

I  scent  the  perfume  of  the  rose 
Which  by  my  crystal  fountain  grows. 
In  this  sad  time,  are  roses  blowing? 
And  thou,  my  fountain,  art  thou  flowing, 


1 1 1 


Lyrics  of  the  Hearthside. 

While  I  who  watched  thy  waters  spring 
Am  all  too  sad  to  smile  or  sing  ? 
Nay,  give  me  back  my  pipe  again, 
It  yet  shall  breathe  this  single  strain  : 
Farewell  to  Arcady ! 


112 


The  Voice  of  the  Banjo. 


THE   VOICE   OF   THE    BANJO. 

IN    a   small   and    lonely  cabin   out  of  noisy 
traffic's  way, 
Sat  an  old  man,  bent  and  feeble,  dusk  of  face, 

and  hair  of  gray, 
And  beside  him  on  the  table,  battered,  old,  and 

worn  as  he, 

Lay  a  banjo,    droning    forth    this    reminiscent 
melody : 

"  Night  is  closing  in  upon  us,  friend  of  mine, 

but  don't  be  sad  ; 
Let  us  think  of  all  the  pleasures  and  the  joys 

that  we  have  had. 
Let  us  keep  a  merry  visage,  and  be  happy  till 

the  last, 
Let  the  future  still  be  sweetened  with  the  honey 

of  the  past. 
8  113 


Lyrics  of  the  Hearthside. 

"  For  I  speak  to  you  of  summer  nights  upon  the 

yellow  sand, 
When  the  Southern  moon  was  sailing  high  and 

silvering  all  the  land  ; 
And  if  love  tales  were  not  sacred,  there  's  a  tale 

that  I  could  tell 
Of  your  many  nightly  wanderings  with  a  dusk 

and  lovely  belle. 

"  And  I  speak  to  you  of  care-free  songs  when 

labour's  hour  was  o'er, 
And  a  woman  waiting  for  your  step  outside  the 

cabin  door, 
And  of  something  roly-poly  that  you  took  upon 

your  lap, 
While  you  listened  for  the  stumbling,  hesitating 

words,  '  Pap,  pap.' 

"  I  could  tell  you  of  a  'possum  hunt  across  the 

wooded  grounds, 
I  could  call  to  mind  the  sweetness  of  the  baying 

of  the  hounds, 

114 


The  Voice  of  the  Banjo. 

You  could  lift  me  up  and  smelling  of  the  tim 
ber  that 's  in  me, 

Build  again  a  whole  green  forest  with  the  mem- 
'ry  of  a  tree. 

"  So  the  future  cannot  hurt  us  while  we  keep 
the  past  in  mind, 

What  care  I  for  trembling  fingers,  —  what  care 
you  that  you  are  blind  ? 

Time  may  leave  us  poor  and  stranded,  circum 
stance  may  make  us  bend ; 

But  they  '11  only  find  us  mellower,  won't  they, 
comrade  ?  —  in  the  end." 


Lyrics  of  the  Hearthside. 


THE   STIRRUP   CUP. 

COME,  drink  a  stirrup  cup  with  me, 
Before  we  close  our  rouse. 
You  're  all  aglow  with  wine,  I  know : 
The  master  of  the  house, 
Unmindful  of  our  revelry, 
Has  drowned  the  carking  devil  care, 
And  slumbers  in  his  chair. 

Come,  drink  a  cup  before  we  start ; 
We  Ve  far  to  ride  to-night. 

And  Death  may  take  the  race  we  make, 
And  check  our  gallant  flight : 
But  even  he  must  play  his  part, 
And  tho'  the  look  he  wears  be  grim, 
We  '11  drink  a  toast  to  him  ! 

For  Death, —  a  swift  old  chap  is  he, 

And  swift  the  steed  He  rides. 
He  needs  no  chart  o'er  main  or  mart, 
116 


The  Stirrup  Cup. 

For  no  direction  bides. 
So,  come,  a  final  cup  with  me, 
And  let  the  soldiers'  chorus  swell, 
To  hell  with  care,  to  hell ! 


117 


Lyrics  of  the  Hearthside. 


A  CHOICE. 

/T"VHEY  please  me  not  —  these  solemn  songs 

JL       That  hint  of  sermons  covered  up. 
'T  is  true  the  world  should  heed  its  wrongs, 

But  in  a  poem  let  me  sup, 
Not  simples  brewed  to  cure  or  ease 
Humanity's  confessed  disease, 
But  the  spirit-wine  of  a  singing  line, 

Or  a  dew-drop  in  a  honey  cup  ! 


118 


HUMOUR   AND    DIALECT. 


THEN    AND    NOW. 

THEN. 

HE  loved  her,  and  through  many  years, 
Had  paid  his  fair  devoted  court, 
Until  she  wearied,  and  with  sneers 
Turned  all  his  ardent  love  to  sport. 

That  night  within  his  chamber  lone, 
He  long  sat  writing  by  his  bed 
A  note  in  which  his  heart  made  moan 
For  love ;  the  morning  found  him  dead. 

NOW. 

Like  him,  a  man  of  later  day 
Was  jilted  by  the  maid  he  sought, 
And  from  her  presence  turned  away, 
Consumed  by  burning,  bitter  thought. 
119 


Lyrics  of  the  Hearthside. 

He  sought  his  room  to  write  —  a  curse 
Like  him  before  and  die,  I  ween. 
Ah  no,  he  put  his  woes  in  verse, 
And  sold  them  to  a  magazine. 


120 


At  Cheshire  Cheese. 


AT   CHESHIRE   CHEESE. 

WHEN  first  of  wise  old  Johnson  taught, 
My  youthful  mind  its  homage  brought, 
And  made  the  pond'rous,  crusty  sage 
The  object  of  a  noble  rage. 

Nor  did  I  think  (How  dense  we  are  !) 
That  any  day,  however  far, 
Would  find  me  holding,  unrepelled, 
The  place  that  Doctor  Johnson  held  ! 

But  change  has  come  and  time  has  moved, 
And  now,  applauded,  unreproved, 
I  hold,  with  pardonable  pride, 
The  place  that  Johnson  occupied. 

Conceit !     Presumption  !     What  is  this? 
You  surely  read  my  words  amiss ; 
Like  Johnson  I,  —  a  man  of  mind  ! 
How  could  you  ever  be  so  blind  ? 

121 


Lyrics  of  the  Hearthside. 

No.     At  the  ancient  "  Cheshire  Cheese," 
Blown  hither  by  some  vagrant  breeze, 
To  dignify  my  shallow  wit, 
In  Doctor  Johnson's  seat  I  sit ! 


122 


My  Corn-Cob  Pipe. 


MY   CORN-COB    PIPE. 

MEN  may  sing  of  their  Havanas,  elevating 
to  the  stars 
The  real  or  fancied  virtues  of  their  foreign-made 

cigars ; 
But  I  worship  Nicotina  at  a   different   sort  of 

shrine, 

And  she  sits  enthroned  in  glory  in  this  corn-cob 
pipe  of  mine. 

It 's  as  fragrant  as  the  meadows  when  the  clover 

is  in  bloom ; 
It 's  as  dainty  as  the  essence  of  the  daintiest 

perfume ; 
It 's  as  sweet  as  are  the  orchards  when  the  fruit 

is  hanging  ripe, 
With  the  sun's  warm  kiss  upon  them  —  is  this 

corn-cob  pipe. 

123 


Lyrics  of  the  Hearthside. 

Thro'  the  smoke  about  it  clinging,  I  delight  its 

form  to  trace, 
Like  an  oriental  beauty  with  a  veil  upon  her 

face; 
And  my  room  is  dim  with  vapour  as  a  church 

when  censers  sway, 
As  I  clasp  it  to  my  bosom  —  in  a  figurative  way. 

It  consoles  me  in  misfortune  and  it  cheers  me 

in  distress, 
And  it  proves  a  warm  partaker  of  my  pleasures 

in  success ; 
So  I  hail  it  as  a  symbol,  friendship's  true  and 

worthy  type, 
And  I  press  my  lips  devoutly  to  my  corn-cob 

pipe. 


124 


In  August 


IN    AUGUST. 

WHEN  August  days  are  hot  an'  dry, 
When  burning  copper  is  the  sky, 
I  'd  rather  fish  than  feast  or  fly 
In  airy  realms  serene  and  high. 

I  'd  take  a  suit  not  made  for  looks, 

Some  easily  digested  books, 

Some  flies,  some  lines,  some  bait,  some  hooks, 

Then  would  I  seek  the  bays  and  brooks. 

I  would  eschew  mine  every  task, 
In  Nature's  smiles  my  soul  should  bask, 
And  I  methinks  no  more  could  ask, 
Except  —  perhaps  —  one  little  flask. 

In  case  of  accident,  you  know, 
Or  should  the  wind  come  on  to  blow, 
Or  I  be  chilled  or  capsized,  so, 
A  flask  would  be  the  only  go. 

"5 


Lyrics  of  the  Hearthside. 

Then  could  I  spend  a  happy  time,  — 

A  bit  of  sport,  a  bit  of  rhyme 

(A  bit  of  lemon,  or  of  lime, 

To  make  my  bottle's  contents  prime). 

When  August  days  are  hot  an'  dry, 
I  won't  sit  by  an'  sigh  or  die, 
I  '11  get  my  bottle  (on  the  sly) 
And  go  ahead,  and  fish,  and  lie  ! 


126 


The  Disturber. 


THE    DISTURBER. 


OH,  what  shall  I  do  ?  I  am  wholly  upset ; 
I  am  sure  I  '11  be  jailed  for  a  lunatic  yet. 
I  '11  be  out  of  a  job  —  it 's  the  thing  to  expect 
When  I  'm  letting  my  duty  go  by  with  neglect. 
You  may  judge  the  extent  and  degree  of  my 

plight 
When  I  'm  thinking  all  day  and  a-dreaming  all 

night, 

And  a-trying  my  hand  at  a  rhyme  on  the  sly, 
All  on  account  of  a  sparkling  eye. 

There  are  those  who  say  men  should  be  strong, 

well-a-day  ! 
But  what  constitutes  strength  in  a  man?     Who 

shall  say? 
I  am  strong  as  the  most  when  it  comes  to  the 

arm. 
I  have  aye  held  my  own  on  the  playground  or 

farm. 

127 


Lyrics  of  the  Hearthside. 

And  when  I  've  been  tempted,  I  have  n't  been 

weak; 

But  now  —  why,  I  tremble  to  hear  a  maid  speak. 
I  used  to  be  bold,  but  now  I  Ve  grown  shy, 
And  all  on  account  of  a  sparkling  eye. 


There  once  was  a  time  when   my   heart  was 

devout, 

But  now  my  religion  is  open  to  doubt. 
When  parson  is  earnestly  preaching  of  grace, 
My  fancy  is  busy  with  drawing  a  face, 
Thro'  the  back  of  a  bonnet  most  piously  plain ; 
'  I  draw  it,  redraw  it,  and  draw  it  again.' 
While  the  songs  and  the  sermon  unheeded  go 

by,— 
All  on  account  of  a  sparkling  eye. 

Oh,  dear  little  conjurer,  give  o'er  your  wiles, 
It   is   easy   for    you,   you  're    all   blushes   and 

smiles : 

But,  love  of  my  heart,  I  am  sorely  perplexed ; 
I  am  smiling  one  minute  and  sighing  the  next ; 
128 


The  Disturber. 

And  if  it  goes  on,  I  '11  drop  hackle  and  flail, 
And  go  to  the  parson  and  tell  him  my  tale. 
I  warrant  he  '11  find  me  a  cure  for  the  sigh 
That  you  're  aye  bringing  forth  with  the  glance 
of  your  eye. 


129 


Lyrics  of  the  Hearthside. 


EXPECTATION. 

YOU  'LL  be  wonderin'  whut's  de  reason 
I  Js  a  grinnin'  all  de  time, 
An'  I  guess  you  t'ink  my  sperits 
Mus'  be  feelin'  mighty  prime. 
Well,  I  'fess  up,  I  is  tickled 

As  a  puppy  at  his  paws. 
But  you  need  n't  think  I 's  crazy, 
I  ain'  laffin'  'dout  a  cause. 

You  's  a  wonderin'  too,  I  reckon, 

Why  I  does  n't  seem  to  eat, 
An'  I  notice  you  a  lookin' 

Lak  you  felt  completely  beat 
When  I  'fuse  to  tek  de  bacon, 

An'  don'  settle  on  de  ham. 
Don'  you  feel  no  feah  erbout  me, 

Jes'  keep  eatin',  an'  be  ca'm. 

Fu'  I 's  waitin'  an'  I 's  watchin* 
'Bout  a  little  t'ing  I  see  — 
130 


Expectation. 

D'  othah  night  I 's  out  a  walkin' 
An'  I  passed  a  'simmon  tree. 

Now  I 's  whettin'  up  my  hongry, 
An'  I 's  laffin'  fit  to  kill, 

Fu'  de  fros'  done  turned  de  'simmons, 
An'  de  possum  's  eat  his  fill. 

He  done  go'ged  hisse'f  owdacious, 

An'  he  stayin'  by  de  tree  ! 
Don'  you  know,  ol'  Mistah  Possum 

Dat  you  gittin'  fat  fu'  me? 
'Tain't  no  use  to  try  to  'spute  it, 

'Case  I  knows  you  's  gittin'  sweet 
Wif  dat  'simmon  flavoh  thoo  you, 

So  I 's  waitin'  fu'  yo'  meat. 

An'  some  ebenin'  me  an'  Towsah 

Gwine  to  come  an'  mek  a  call, 
We  jes'  drap  in  onexpected 

Fu'  to  shek  yo'  han',  dat's  all. 
Oh,  I  knows  dat  you  '11  be  tickled, 

Seems  lak  I  kin  see  you  smile, 
So  pu'haps  I  mought  pu'suade  you 

Fu'  to  visit  us  a  while. 


Lyrics  of  the  Hearthside. 


LOVER'S   LANE. 

QUMMAH  night  an'  sighin'  breeze, 
V_)     'Long  de  lovah's  lane ; 
Frien'ly,  shadder-mekin'  trees, 

'Long  de  lovah's  lane. 
White  folks'  wo'k  all  done  up  gran'  — 
Me  an'  'Mandy  han'-in-han' 
Struttin'  lak  we  owned  de  Ian', 

'Long  de  lovah's  lane. 

Owl  a-settin'  'side  de  road, 

'Long  de  lovah's  lane, 
Lookin'  at  us  lak  he  knowed 

Dis  uz  lovah's  lane. 
Go  on,  hoot  yo'  mou'nful  tune, 
You  ain*  nevah  loved  in  June, 
An'  come  hidin*  f  om  de  moon 

Down  in  lovah's  lane, 
132 


Lover's  Lane. 

Bush  it  ben'  an'  nod  an'  sway, 

Down  in  lovah's  lane, 
Try'n'  to  hyeah  me  whut  I  say 

'Long  de  lovah's  lane. 
But  I  whispahs  low  lak  dis, 
An'  my  'Mandy  smile  huh  bliss 
Mistah  Bush  he  shek  his  fis', 
Down  in  lovah's  lane. 


Whut  I  keer  ef  day  is  long, 

Down  in  lovah's  lane. 
I  kin  allus  sing  a  song 

'Long  de  lovah's  lane. 
An'  de  wo'ds  I  hyeah  an'  say 
Meks  up  fu'  de  weary  day 
Wen  I 's  strollin'  by  de  way, 
Down  in  lovah's  lane. 

An'  dis  t'ought  will  allus  rise 
Down  in  lovah's  lane  : 

Wonclah  whethah  in  de  skies 
Dey  's  a  lovah's  lane. 
133 


Lyrics  of  the  Hearthside. 

Ef  dey  ain't,  I  tell  you  true, 
'Ligion  do  look  mighty  blue, 
'Cause  I  do'  know  whut  I  'd  do 
'Dout  a  lovah's  lane. 


134 


Protest. 


PROTEST. 

WHO  say  my  hea't  ain't  true  to  you? 
Dey  bettah  heish  dey  mouf. 
I  knows  I  loves  you  thoo  an'  thoo 

In  watah  time  er  drouf. 
I  wush  dese  people  'd  stop  dey  talkin', 
Don't  mean  no  mo'  dan  chicken's  squawkin' 
I  guess  I  knows  which  way  I 's  walkin', 
I  knows  de  norf  f  om  souf. 

I  does  not  love  Elizy  Brown, 

I  guess  I  knows  my  min'. 
You  allus  try  to  tek  me  down 

Wid  evaht'ing  you  fin'. 
Ef  dese  hyeah  folks  will  keep  on  fillin' 
Yo'  haid  wid  nonsene,  an'  you  's  willin' 
I  bet  some  day  dey  '11  be  a  killin' 

Somewhaih  along  de  line. 
'35 


Lyrics  of  the  Hearthside. 

O'  cose  I  buys  de  gal  ice-cream, 
Whut  else  I  gwine  to  do  ? 
I  knows  jes'  how  de  t'ing  'u'd  seem 

Ef  I  'd  be  sho't  wid  you. 

On  Sunday,  you  's  at  chu'ch  a-shoutin', 

Den  all  de  week  you  go  'roun'  poutin'  - 

I 's  mighty  tiahed  o'  all  dis  doubtin', 

I  tell  you  cause  I 's  true. 


136 


Hymn 


HYMN. 

OLI'L'  lamb  out  in  de  col', 
De  Mastah  call  you  to  de  foP, 

O  li'P  lamb  ! 

He  hyeah  you  bleatin'  on  de  hill ; 
Come  hyeah  an'  keep  yo*  mou'nin'  still, 
O  li'P  lamb  ! 

De  Mastah  sen'  de  Shepud  fo'f ; 
He  wandah  souf,  he  wandah  no'f, 

O  li'P  lamb  ! 

He  wandah  eas',  he  wandah  wes' ; 
De  win*  a-wrenchin'  at  his  breas', 

O  li'P  lamb  ! 

Oh,  tell  de  Shepud  whaih  you  hide ; 
He  want  you  walkin'  by  his  side, 

O  li'P  lamb  ! 

He  know  you  weak,  he  know  you  so' ; 
But  come,  don'  stay  away  no  mo', 

O  li'P  lamb  ! 
137 


Lyrics  of  the  Hearthside. 

An'  af  ah  while  de  lamb  he  hyeah 
De  Shepud's  voice  a-callin'  cleah  — 

Sweet  liT  lamb ! 

He  answah  f  'om  de  brambles  thick, 
"  O  Shepud,  I 's  a-comin'  quick  "  — 

O  liT  lamb  ! 


138 


Little  Brown  Baby. 


LITTLE   BROWN    BABY. 

T   ITTLE  brown  baby  wif  spa'klin'  eyes, 
.L/     Come  to  yo'  pappy  an'  set  on  his  knee. 
What  you  been  doin',  suh  —  makin'  san'  pies? 

Look  at  dat  bib  —  you  's  ez  du'ty  ez  me. 
Look  at  dat  mouf —  dat 's  merlasses,  I  bet ; 

Come  hyeah,  Maria,  an'  wipe  off  his  han's. 
Bees  gwine  to  ketch  you  an'  eat  you  up  yit, 

Bein'  so  sticky  an  sweet  —  goodness  lan's  ! 

Little  brown  baby  wif  spa'klin'  eyes, 

Who 's  pappy's    darlin'    an'    who 's    pappy's 

chile? 
Who  is  it  all  de  day  nevah  once  tries 

Fu'  to  be  cross,  er  once  loses  dat  smile  ? 
Whah   did   you  git   dem  teef?     My,    you 's  a 

scamp  ! 

Whah  did  dat  dimple  come  f  om  in  yo'  chin  ? 
Pappy  do'  know  yo  —  I  b'lieves  you  's  a  tramp  ; 
Mammy,    dis     hyeah 's     some    ol'    straggler 
got  in  ! 


Lyrics  of  the  Hearth  side. 

Let 's  th'ow  him  outen  de  do'  in  de  san', 

We  do'  want  stragglers  a-layin'  'roun'  hyeah ; 
Let 's  gin  him  'way  to  de  big  buggah-man ; 

I  know  he  's  hidin'  erroun'  hyeah  right  neah. 
Buggah-man,  buggah-man,  come  in  de  do', 

Hyeah's  a  bad  boy  you  kin  have  fu'  to  eat. 
Mammy  an'  pappy  do'  want  him  no  mo', 

Swaller  him  down  f  om  his  haid  to  his  feet ! 

Dah,  now,  I  t'ought  dat  you  'd  hug  me  up  close. 

Go  back,  ol'  buggah,  you   sha'n't  have  dis 

boy. 
He  ain't  no  tramp,  ner  no  straggler,  of  co'se ; 

He  's  pappy's  pa'dner  an'  playmate  an'  joy. 
Come  to  you'  pallet  now  —  go  to  yo'  res' ; 

Wisht  you  could  allus  know  ease  an'  cleah 

skies ; 
Wisht  you  could  stay  jes'  a  chile  on  my  breas'  — 

Little  brown  baby  wif  spa'klin'  eyes  ! 


140 


Time  to  Tinker  'Roun'  ! 


TIME  TO   TINKER   'ROUN'! 

SUMMAH  'S  nice,  wif  sun  a-shinin', 
Spring  is  good  wif  greens  and  grass, 
An'  dey  's  some  t'ings  nice  'bout  wintah, 

Dough  hit  brings  de  freezin'  bias' ; 
But  de  time  dat  is  de  fines , 

Whethah  fiel's  is  green  er  brown, 
Is  w'en  de  rain  's  a-po'in' 

An'  dey  's  time  to  tinker  'roun.' 

Den  you  men's  de  mule's  oF  ha'ness, 

An'  you  men's  de  broken  chair. 
Hummin'  all  de  time  you  's  wo'kin* 

Some  ol*  common  kind  o*  air. 
Evah  now  an*  then  you  looks  out, 

Tryin'  mighty  ha'd  to  frown, 
But  you  cain't,  you  's  glad  hit 's  rainin', 

An'  dey  's  time  to  tinker  'roun'. 
141 


Lyrics  of  the  Hearthside. 

Oh,  you  'ten's  lak  you  so  anxious 

Evah  time  it  so't  o'  stops. 
Wen  hit  goes  on,  den  you  reckon 

Dat  de  wet  '11  he'p  de  crops. 
But  hit  ain't  de  crops  you 's  aftah ; 

You  knows  w'en  de  rain  comes  down 
Dat 's  hit 's  too  wet  out  fu'  wo'kin', 

An'  dey  's  time  to  tinker  'roun'. 

Oh,  dey 's  fun  inside  de  co'n-crib, 

An'  dey 's  laffin'  at  de  ba'n ; 
An'  dey 's  allus  some  one  jokin', 

Er  some  one  to  tell  a  ya'n. 
Dah  's  a  quiet  in  yo'  cabin, 

Only  fu'  de  rain's  sof  soun' ; 
So  you  's  mighty  blessed  happy 

W'en  dey 's  time  to  tinker  'roun' ! 


142 


The  Real  Question. 


THE   REAL  QUESTION. 

FOLKS  is  talkin'  'bout  de  money,  'bout  de 
silvah  an'  de  gold  ; 
All  de  time  de  season  's  changin'  an'  de  days  is 

gittin'  cold. 
An'  dey  's  wond'rin'  'bout  de  metals,  whethah 

we  '11  have  one  er  two. 

While  de  price  o'  coal  is   risin'  an'  dey 's  two 
months'  rent  dat  's  due. 

Some  folks  says  dat  gold 's  de  only  money  dat  is 

wuff  de  name, 
Den  de  othahs  rise  an'  tell  'em  dat  dey  ought 

to  be  ashame, 
An'  dat  silvah  is  de  only  thing  to  save  us  f  om 

de  powah 
Of  de  gold-bug  ragin'  'roun'  an'  seekin'  who  he 

may  devowah. 


Lyrics  of  the  Hearthside. 

Well,   you  folks   kin  keep  on  shoutin'  wif  yo' 

gold  er  silvah  cry, 
But  I  tell  you  people  hams  is  sceerce  an'  fowls 

is  roostin'  high. 
An'  hit  ain't  de  so't  o'  money  dat  is  pesterin' 

my  min', 
But  de  question  I  want  answehed  's  how  to  get 

at  any  kin' ! 


144 


Jilted. 


JILTED. 

LUCY  done  gone  back  on  me, 
Dat  's  de  way  wif  life. 
Evaht'ing  was  movin'  free, 
T'ought  I  had  my  wife. 
Den  some  dahky  comes  along, 
Sings  my  gal  a  little  song, 
Since  den,  evaht' ing's  gone  wrong, 
Evah  day  dey  's  strife. 

Did  n't  answeh  me  to-day, 
Wen  I  called  huh  name, 
Would  you  t'ink  she  'd  ac'  dat  way 

Wen  I  ain't  to  blame  ? 
Dat 's  de  way  dese  women  do, 
Wen  dey  fin's  a  fellow  true, 
Den  dey  'buse  him  thoo  an'  thoo ; 

Well,  hit 's  all  de  same. 
10  145 


Lyrics  of  the  Hearthside. 

Somep'n  's  wrong  erbout  my  lung, 

An'  I's  glad  hit's  so. 
Doctah  says  'at  I  '11  die  young, 

Well,  I  wants  to  go  ! 
Whut  's  de  use  o'  livin'  hyeah, 
Wen  de  gal  you  loves  so  deah, 
Goes  back  on  you  clean  an'  cleah  — 

I  sh'd  like  to  know? 


146 


The  News. 


THE   NEWS. 

WHUT  dat  you  whisperin'  keepin'  fom  me  ? 
Don't  shut  me  out  'cause  I 's  oP  an 
can't  see. 
Somep'n*  's   gone   wrong   dat 's   a-causin'   you 

dread, — 
Don't  be  afeared  to  tell  —  Whut !  mastah  dead? 


Somebody  brung  de  news  early  to-day,  — 
One  of  de  sojers  he  led,  do  you  say? 
Didn't  he  foller  whah  ol'  mastah  led? 
How  kin  he  live  w'en  his  leadah  is  dead? 

Let  me  lay  down  awhile,  dah  by  his  bed  ; 
I  wants  to  t'ink,  —  hit  ain't  cleah  in  my  head  :  — 
Killed  while  a-leadin'  his  men  into  fight,  — 
Dat's  whut  you  said,  ain't  it,  did  I  hyeah  right? 


Lyrics  of  the  Hearthside. 

Mastah,  my  mastah,  dead  dah  in  de  fiel'  ? 
Lif  me  up  some,  —  dah,  jes'  so  I  kin  kneel. 
I  was  too  weak  to  go  wid  him,  dey  said, 
Well,   now    I  '11  —  fin'    him  —  so  —  mastah    is 
dead. 


Yes,  suh,  I 's  comin'  ez  fas'  ez  I  kin,  — 
'Twas  kin'  o'  da'k,  but  hit's  lightah  agin : 
P'omised  yo'  pappy  I  'd  allus  tek  keer 
Of  you,  —  yes,  mastah,  —  I 's  follerin',  —  hyeah  ! 


148 


Chrismus  on  the  Plantation. 


CHRISMUS   ON    THE    PLANTATION. 


i 


T    was    Chrismus    Eve,  I  mind    hit    fu'  a 

mighty  gloomy  day  — 
Bofe    de  weathah  an'    de   people  —  not  a  one 

of  us  was  gay  ; 
Cose  you  '11  t'ink  dat  's  mighty  funny  'twell    I 

try  to  mek  hit  cleah, 
Fu'  a  da'ky's  allus  happy  when  de  holidays  is 

neah. 


But  we  was  n't,  fu'  dat  mo'nin'  Mastah  *d  tol'  us 

we  mus'  go, 
He  'd   been  payin'  us   sence   freedom,   but  he 

could  n't  pay  no  mo' ; 
He   wa'n't  nevah  used  to  plannin'  'fo'  he  got  so 

po'  an'  ol', 
So  he  gwine  to  give  up  tryin',  an'  de  homestead 

mus'  be  sol'. 

149 


Lyrics  of  the  Hearthside. 

I  kin  see  him  stan'in'  now  erpon  de  step  ez 

cleah  ez  day, 
Wid  de  win'  a -kind  o'  fondlin'  thoo  his  haih  all 

thin  an'  gray ; 
An'  I  'membah  how  he  trimbled  when  he  said, 

"  It 's  ha'd  fu'  me, 
Not  to  mek  yo'  Chrismus  brightah,  but  I  'low 

it  wa'n't  to  be." 


All  de  women  was  a-cryin',  an'  de  men,  too,  on 

de  sly, 
An'  I  noticed  somep'n  shinin'  even  in  oF  Mas- 

tah's  eye. 
But  we  all  stood  still  to  listen  ez  oF  Ben  come 

f  om  de  crowd 
An'  spoke  up,  a-try'n'  to  steady  down  his  voice 

and  mek  it  loud  :  — 


"  Look  hyeah,  Mastah,  I 's  been  servin'  you'  fu' 

lo  !  dese  many  yeahs, 
An'  now,  sence  we  's  got  freedom  an'  you 's  kind 

o'  po',  hit  'pears 


Chrismus  on  the  Plantation. 

Dat  you  want  us  all   to  leave  you  'cause  you 

don't  t'ink  you  can  pay. 
Ef  my  merabry  has  n't  fooled  me,  seem   dat 

whut  I  hyead  you  say. 


"  Er  in  othah  wo'ds,  you  wants  us  to  fu'git  dat 
you  's  been  kin', 

An'  ez  soon  ez  you  is  he'pless,  we  's  to  leave 
you  hyeah  behin'. 

Well,  ef  dat 's  de  way  dis  freedom  ac's  on  peo 
ple,  white  er  black, 

You  kin  jes'  tell  Mistah  Lincum  fu'  to  tek  his 
freedom  back. 

"  We  gwine  wo'k  dis  olf  plantation  fu'  whatevah 

we  kin  git, 
Fu'  I  know  hit  did  suppo't  us,  an'  de  place  kin 

do  it  yit. 
Now  de  land  is  yo's,  de  hands  is  ouahs,  an'  I 

reckon  we  '11 -be  brave, 
An'  we  '11  bah  ez  much  ez  you  do  w'en  we  has 

to  scrape  an'  ^ave." 


Lyrics  of  the  Hearthside. 

OP  Mastah  stood  dah   trimblin',  but  a-smilin' 

thoo  his  teahs, 
An'  den  hit  seemed  jes'  nachul-like,  de  place 

fah  rung  wid  cheahs, 
An'  soon  ez  dey  was  quiet,  some  one  sta'ted 

sof  an'  low : 
"  Praise  God,"  an'  den  we  all  jined  in,  "  from 

whom  all  blessin's  flow!  " 

Well,  dey  was  n't  no  use  tryin',  ouah  min's  was 

sot  to  stay, 
An'  po'  ol*  Mastah  could  n't  plead  ner  baig,  ner 

drive  us  'way, 
An'  all  at  once,  hit  seemed  to  us,  de  day  was 

bright  agin, 
So  evahone  was  gay  dat  night,  an'  watched  de 

Chrismus  in. 


Angelina. 

ANGELINA. 

WHEN  de  fiddle  gits  to  singin'  out  a  ol' 
Vahginny  reel, 
An'  you  'mence  to  feel  a  ticklin'  in  yo'  toe  an' 

in  yo'  heel ; 
Ef  you  t'ink  you  got  'uligion  an'  you  wants  to 

keep  it,  too, 
You  jes'  bettah  tek  a  hint  an'  git  yo'self  clean 

out  o'  view. 
Case  de  time  is  mighty  temptin'  when  de  chune 

is  in  de  swing, 
Fu'   a  darky,  saint   or   sinner  man,  to  cut    de 

pigeon-wing. 
An'  you  could  n't  he'p  fom  dancin'  ef  yo'  feet 

was  boun'  wif  twine, 
When  Angelina  Johnson  comes  a-swingin'  down 

de  line. 

Don't    you   know    Miss    Angelina?      She's    de 

da'lin'  of  de  place. 
VV'y,  dey  ain't  no  high-toned  lady  wif  sich  man- 

nahs  an'  sich  grace. 
153 


Lyrics  of  the  Hearthside. 

She  kin  move  across  de  cabin,  wif  its  planks  all 

rough  an'  wo* ; 
Jes'  de  same  's  ef  she  was  dancin'  on  ol'  mistus' 

ball-room  flo'. 
Fact  is,  you  do'  see  no  cabin  —  evaht'ing  you 

see  look  grand, 
An'  dat  one  ol'  squeaky  fiddle  soun'  to  you  jes' 

lak  a  ban' ; 
Cotton  britches  look  lak  broadclof  an'  a  linsey 

dress  look  fine, 
When  Angelina  Johnson  comes  a-swingin'  down 

de  line. 

Some  folks  say  dat  dancin 's  sinful,  an'  de  blessed 

Lawd,  dey  say, 
Gwine  to  purnish  us  fu'  steppin'  w'en  we  hyeah 

de  music  play. 
But  I  tell  you  I  don'  b'lieve  it,  fu'  de  Lawd  is 

wise  and  good, 
An'  he  made  de  banjo's  metal  an'  he  made  de 

riddle's  wood, 
An'  he  made  de  music  in  dem,  so  I  don'  quite 

t'ink  he  '11  keer 
154 


Angelina. 

Ef  our  feet  keeps  time  a  little  to  de  melodies 

we  hyeah. 
W'y,  dey  's  somep'n'  downright  holy  in  de  way 

our  faces  shine, 
When  Angelina  Johnson  comes  a-swingin'  down 

de  line. 

Angelina  steps  so  gentle,  Angelina  bows  so  low, 
An'  she  lif  huh  sku't  so  dainty  dat  huh  shoetop 

skacely  show  : 
An'  dem  teef  o'  huh'n  a-shinin',  ez  she  tek  you 

by  de  han'  — 
Go  'way,  people,  d'  ain't  anothah  sich  a  lady  in 

de  Ian'  ! 
When  she  's  movin'  thoo  de  figgers  er  a-dancin' 

by  huhse'f, 
Folks  jes'  stan'  stock-still  a-sta'in',  an'  dey  mos' 

nigh  hoi's  dey  bref ; 
An'  de  young  mens,  dey's  a-sayin',  "  I's  gwine 

mek  dat  damsel  mine," 
When  Angelina  Johnson  comes  a-swingin'  down 

de  line. 


155 


Lyrics  of  the  Hearthside. 


FOOLIN'    WID    DE   SEASONS. 

SEEMS  lak  folks  is  mighty  curus 
In  de  way  dey  t'inks  an'  ac's. 
Dey  jes'  spen's  dey  days  a-mixin' 

Up  de  t'ings  in  almanacs. 
Now,  I  min'  my  nex'  do'  neighbour,  — 

He  's  a  mighty  likely  man, 
But  he  nevah  t'inks  o'  nuffin 

'Ceptin'  jes'  to  plot  an'  plan. 

All  de  wintah  he  was  plannin' 

How  he  'd  gethah  sassafras 
Jes'  ez  soon  ez  evah  Springtime 

Put  some  greenness  in  de  grass. 
An'  he  'lowed  a  little  soonah 

He  could  stan'  a  coolah  breeze 
So  's  to  mek  a  little  money 

F'om  de  sugah-watah  trees. 
156 


Foolin'  wid  de  Seasons. 

In  de  summah,  he  'd  be  waihin' 

Out  de  linin'  of  his  soul, 
Try  'n'  to  ca'ci'late  an'  fashion 

How  he  'd  git  his  wintah  coal : 
An'  I  b'lieve  he  got  his  jedgement 

Jes'  so  tuckahed  out  an'  thinned 
Dat  he  t'ought  a  robin's  whistle 

Was  de  whistle  of  de  wind. 


Why  won't  folks  gin  up  dey  plannin', 

An'  jes'  be  content  to  know 
Dat  dey 's  gittin'  all  dat  's  fu'  dem 

In  de  days  dat  come  an'  go? 
Why  won't  folks  quit  movin'  forrard  ? 

Ain't  hit  bettah  jes'  to  stan' 
An'  be  satisfied  wid  livin' 

In  de  season  dat 's  at  han'  ? 

Hit 's  enough  fu'  me  to  listen 

Wen  de  birds  is  singin'  'roun', 

'Dout  a-guessin'  whut  '11  happen 
W'en  de  snow  is  on  de  groun'. 
157 


Lyrics  of  the  Hearthside. 

In  de  Springtime  an'  de  summah, 
I  lays  sorrer  on  de  she'f ; 

An'  I  knows  ol'  Mistah  Wintah 
Gvvine  to  hustle  fu'  hisse'f. 

We  been  put  hyeah  fu'  a  pu'pose, 

But  de  questun  dat  has  riz 
An'  made  lots  o'  people  diffah 

Is  jes'  whut  dat  pu'pose  is. 
Now,  accordin'  to  my  reas'nin', 

Hyeah  's  de  p'int  whaih  I 's  arriv, 
Sence  de  Lawd  put  life  into  us, 

We  was  put  hyeah  fu'  to  live  ! 


158 


My  Sort  o'  Man. 


MY   SORT   O'    MAN. 

I  DON'T  believe  in  'ristercrats 
An'  never  did,  you  see ; 
The  plain  oP  homelike  sorter  folks 

Is  good  enough  fur  me. 
O'  course,  I  don't  desire  a  man 

To  be  too  tarnal  rough, 
But  then,  I  think  all  folks  should  know 
When  they  air  nice  enough. 

Now  there  is  folks  in  this  here  world, 

From  peasant  up  to  king, 
Who  want  to  be  so  awful  nice 

They  overdo  the  thing. 
That 's  jest  the  thing  that  makes  me  sick, 

An'  quicker  'n  a  wink 
I  set  it  down  that  them  same  folks 

Ain't  half  so  good  's  you  think. 
159 


Lyrics  of  the  Hearthside. 

I  like  to  see  a  man  dress  nice, 

In  clothes  becomin'  too ; 
I  like  to  see  a  woman  fix 

As  women  orter  to  do  ; 
An*  boys  an'  gals  I  like  to  see 

Look  fresh  an'  young  an'  spry, — 
We  all  must  have  our  vanity 

An'  pride  before  we  die. 

But  I  jedge  no  man  by  his  clothes,  — 

Nor  gentleman  nor  tramp ; 
The  man  that  wears  the  finest  suit 

May  be  the  biggest  scamp, 
An'  he  whose  limbs  air  clad  in  rags 

That  make  a  mournful  sight, 
In  life's  great  battle  may  have  proved 

A  hero  in  the  fight. 


I  don't  believe  in  'ristercrats ; 

I  like  the  honest  tan 
That  lies  upon  the  heathful  cheek 

An'  speaks  the  honest  man ; 
160 


My  Sort  o'  Man. 

I  like  to  grasp  the  brawny  hand 
That  labor's  lips  have  kissed, 

For  he  who  has  not  labored  here 

Life's  greatest  pride  has  missed  : 


The  pride  to  feel  that  yore  own  strength 

Has  cleaved  fur  you  the  way 
To  heights  to  which  you  were  not  born, 

But  struggled  day  by  day. 
What  though  the  thousands  sneer  an'  scoff, 

An'  scorn  yore  humble  birth? 
Kings  are  but  puppets  ;  you  are  king 

By  right  o'  royal  worth. 

The  man  who  simply  sits  an'  waits 

Fur  good  to  come  along, 
Ain't  worth  the  breath  that  one  would  take 

To  tell  him  he  is  wrong. 
Fur  good  ain't  flowin'  round  this  world 

Fur  every  fool  to  sup ; 
You  've  got  to  put  yore  see-ers  on, 

An'  go  an'  hunt  it  up. 
ii  161 


Lyrics  of  the  Hearthside. 

Good  goes  with  honesty,  I  say, 

To  honour  an'  to  bless ; 
To  rich  an'  poor  alike  it  brings 

A  wealth  o'  happiness. 
The  'ristercrats  ain't  got  it  all, 

Fur  much  to  their  su'prise, 
That 's  one  of  earth's  most  blessed  things 

They  can't  monopolize. 


162 


Possum. 


POSSUM. 

EF  dey  's  anyt'ing  dat  riles  me 
An'  jes'  gits  me  out  o'  hitch, 
Twell  I  want  to  tek  my  coat  off, 
So  's  to  r'ar  an'  far  an'  pitch, 
Hit 's  to  see  some  ign'ant  white  man 

'Mittin'  dat  owdacious  sin  — 

Wen  he  want  to  cook  a  possum 

Tekin'  off  de  possum's  skin. 

W'y,  dey  ain't  no  use  in  talkin', 

Hit  jes'  hu'ts  me  to  de  hea't 
Fu'  to  see  dem  foolish  people 

Th'owin'  'way  de  fines'  pa't. 
W'y,  dat  skin  is  jes'  ez  tendah 

An'  ez  juicy  ez  kin  be  ; 
I  knows  all  erbout  de  critter  — 

Hide  an'  haih  —  don't  talk  to  me  ! 
163 


Lyrics  of  the  Hearthside. 

Possum  skin  is  jes  lak  shoat  skin ; 

Jes'  you  swinge  an'  scrope  it  down, 
Tek  a  good  sha'p  knife  an'  sco'  it, 

Den  you  bake  it  good  an'  brown. 
Huh-uh  !  honey,  you  's  so  happy 

Dat  yo'  thoughts  is  'mos'  a  sin 
When  you 's  settin'  dah  a-chawin' 

On  dat  possum's  cracklin'  skin. 

White  folks  t'ink  dey  know  'bout  eatin', 

An'  I  reckon  dat  dey  do 
Sometimes  git  a  little  idee 

Of  a  middlin'  dish  er  two ; 
But  dey  ain't  a  t'ing  dey  knows  of 

Dat  I  reckon  cain't  be  beat 
Wen  we  set  down  at  de  table 

To  a  unskun  possum's  meat ! 


164 


On  the  Road. 


ON   THE   ROAD. 

T  'S  boun'  to  see  my  gal  to-night  — 

•*•     Oh,  lone  de  way,  my  dearie  ! 

De  moon  ain't  out,  de  stars  ain't  bright 

Oh,  lone  de  way,  my  dearie  ! 
Dis  hoss  o'  mine  is  pow'ful  slow, 
But  when  I  does  git  to  yo'  do' 
Yo'  kiss  '11  pay  me  back,  an'  mo', 

Dough  lone  de  way,  my  dearie. 

De  night  is  skeery-lak  an'  still  — 
Oh,  lone  de  way,  my  dearie  ! 

'Cept  fu'  dat  mou'nful  whippo'will  — 
Oh,  lone  de  way,  my  dearie  ! 

De  way  so  long  wif  dis  slow  pace, 

'T  'u'd  seem  to  me  lak  savin'  grace 

Ef  you  was  on  a  nearer  place, 
Fu'  lone  de  way,  my  dearie. 
165 


Lyrics  of  the  H earths! de. 

I  hyeah  de  hootin'  of  de  owl  — 
Oh,  lone  de  way,  my  dearie  ! 
I  wish  dat  watch-dog  wouldn't  howl- 

Oh,  lone  de  way,  my  dearie  ! 
An'  evaht'ing,  bofe  right  an'  lef , 
Seem  p'int'ly  lak  hit  put  itse'f 
In  shape  to  skeer  me  half  to  def — 
Oh,  lone  de  way,  my  dearie  ! 

I  whistles  so  's  I  won't  be  feared  — 

Oh  lone  de  way,  my  dearie  ! 
But  anyhow  I 's  kin'  o'  skeered, 
Fu'  lone  de  way,  my  dearie. 
De  sky  been  lookin'  mighty  glum, 
But  you  kin  mek  hit  lighten  some, 
Ef  you  '11  jes'  say  you 's  glad  I  come, 
Dough  lone  de  way,  my  dearie. 


166 


A  Death  Song. 


A   DEATH  SONG. 

LAY  me  down  beneaf  de  willers  in  de  grass, 
Whah  de  branch  '11  go  a-singin'  as  it  pass. 
An'  w'en  I  's  a-layin'  low, 
I  kin  hyeah  it  as  it  go 
Singin',  "  Sleep,  my  honey,  tek  yo'  res'  at  las'." 

Lay  me  nigh  to  whah  hit  meks  a  little  pool, 
An'  de  watah  Stan's  so  quiet  lak  an'  cool, 

Whah  de  little  birds  in  spring, 

Ust  to  come  an'  drink  an'  sing, 
An'  de  chillen  waded  on  dey  way  to  school. 

Let  me  settle  w'en  my  shouldahs  draps  dey  load 
Nigh  enough  to  hyeah  de  noises  in  de  road ; 

Fu'  I  t'ink  de  las'  long  res' 

Gwine  to  soothe  my  sperrit  bes' 
Ef  I 's  layin'  'mong  de  t'ings  I 's  allus  knowed. 


167 


Lyrics  of  the  Hearthside. 


A   BACK-LOG  SONG. 

DE  axes  has  been  ringin*    in  de    woods  de 
blessid  day, 

An'  de  chips  has  been  a-fallin'  fa'  an'  thick ; 
Dey  has  cut  de  bigges'  hick'ry  dat  de  mules  kin 

tote  away, 
An'  dey's  laid  hit  down  and  soaked  it  in  de 

crik. 
Den  dey  tuk  hit  to  de  big  house  an'  dey  piled 

de  wood  erroun' 

In  de  nah-place  f  om  ash-flo'  to  de  flue, 
While  ol'  Ezry  sta'ts  de  hymn  dat  evah  yeah 

has  got  to  soun' 

When  de  back-log  fus'   commence  a-bu'nin' 
thoo. 

Ol'  Mastah  is  a-smilin'  on  de  da'kies   f  om  de 

hall, 

Ol'  Mistus  is  a-stannin'  in  de  do', 
168 


A  Back-Log  Song. 

An'  de  young  folks,  males  an'  misses,  is  a-tryin', 

one  an'  all, 

Fu'  to  mek  us  feel  hit 's  Chrismus  time  fu'  sho'. 
An'  ouah  hea'ts  are    full    of    pleasure,  fu'    we 

know  de  time  is  ouahs 

Fu'  to  dance  er  do  jes'  whut  we  wants  to  do. 
An'  dey  ain't  no  ovahseer  an'  no  othah  kind  o' 

powahs 
Dat  kin  stop  us  while  dat  log  is  bu'nin  thoo. 

Dey  's  a-wokin'  in  de  qua'tahs  a-preparin'  fu'  de 

feas', 

So  de  little  pigs  is  feelin'  kind  o'  shy. 
De  chickens  ain't  so  trus'ful  ez  dey  was,  to  say 

de  leas', 

An'  de  wise  ol'  hens  is  roostin'  mighty  high. 
You  could  n't  git  a  gobblah  fu'  to  look  you  in  de 

face- 

I  ain't  sayin'  whut  de  tu'ky  'spects  is  true ; 
But    hit's    mighty    dange'ous    trav'lin'    fu'    de 

critters  on  de  place 

F'om  de  time  dat  log  commence  a  bu'nin' 
thoo. 

169 


Lyrics  of  the  Hearthside. 

Some  one  's  tunin'  up  his  fiddle  dah,  I  hyeah  a 

banjo's  ring, 

An',  bless  me,  dat  's  de  tootin'  of  a  ho'n  ! 
Now  dey  '11  evah  one  be  runnin'  dat  has  got  a 

foot  to  fling, 
An'  dey  '11  dance  an'  frolic  on  Pom  now  'twell 

mo'n. 
Plunk  de  banjo,  scrap  de  fiddle,  blow  dat  ho-'n 

yo'  level  bes', 
Keep  yo'  min'  erpon  de  chune  an'  step  it 

true. 
Oh,  dey  ain't  no  time  fu'  stoppin'  an'  dey  ain't 

no  time  fu'  res', 

Fu'  hit 's  Chrismus  an'  de  back- log 's  bu'nhY 
thoo  ! 


170 


Lullaby. 


LULLABY. 

T)  E  DTI  ME  'S  come  fu'  little  boys. 

Jj     Po'  little  lamb. 

Too  tiahed  out  to  make  a  noise, 

Po'  little  lamb. 

You  gwine  t'  have  to-morrer  sho'  ? 
Yes,  you  tole  me  dat  befo', 
Don't  you  fool  me,  chile,  no  mo', 

Po'  little  lamb. 

You  been  bad  de  livelong  day, 

Po'  little  lamb. 
Th'owin'  stones  an'  runnin'  'way, 

Po'  little  lamb. 
My,  but  you  's  a-runnin'  wil1, 
Look  jes'  lak  some  po'  folks  chile  ; 
Mam'  gwine  whup  you  alter  while, 

Po'  little  lamb. 

Come  hyeah  !  you  mos'  tiahed  to  def, 
Po'  little  lamb. 

171 


Lyrics  of  the  Hearthside. 

Played  yo'se'f  clean  out  o'  bref, 

Po'  little  lamb. 

See  dem  ban's  now  —  sich  a  sight ! 
Would  you  evah  b'lieve  dey  's  white? 
Stan'  still  twell  I  wash  'em  right, 

Po'  little  lamb. 

Jes'  cain't  hoi'  yo'  haid  up  straight, 

Po'  little  lamb. 
Had  n't  oughter  played  so  late, 

Po'  little  lamb. 

Mammy  do'  know  whut  she  'd  do, 
Ef  de  chillun's  all  lak  you ; 
You  's  a  caution  now  fu'  true, 

Po'  little  lamb. 

Lay  yo'  haid  down  in  my  lap, 

Po'  little  lamb. 
Y'  ought  to  have  a  right  good  slap, 

Po'  little  lamb. 

You  been  runnin'  roun'  a  heap. 
Shet  dem  eyes  an'  don't  you  peep, 
Dah  now,  dah  now,  go  to  sleep, 

Po'  little  lamb. 
172 


The  Photograph. 


THE    PHOTOGRAPH. 

SEE  dis  pictyah  in  my  ban'  ? 
Dat  's  my  gal ; 
Ain't  she  purty?  goodness  Ian'  ! 

Huh  name  Sal. 
Dat 's  de  very  way  she  be  — 
Kin'  o'  tickles  me  to  see 
Huh  a-smilin'  back  at  me. 

She  sont  me  dis  photygraph 

Jes'  las'  week; 
An'  aldough  hit  made  me  laugh 

My  black  cheek 
Felt  somethin'  a-runnin'  queer; 
Bless  yo'  soul,  it  was  a  tear 
Jes'  f ' om  wishin'  she  was  here. 

Often  when  I  's  all  alone 

Layin'  here, 
I  git  t'inkin'  'bout  my  own 

Sallie  dear ; 

T73 


Lyrics  of  the  Hearthside. 

How  she  say  dat  I 's  huh  beau, 
An'  hit  tickles  me  to  know 
Dat  de  gal  do  love  me  so. 

Some  bright  day  I 's  goin'  back, 

Fo'  de  la  ! 
An'  ez  sho'  's  my  face  is  black, 

Ax  huh  pa 

Fu'  de  blessed  little  miss 
Who  's  a-smilin'  out  o'  dis 
Pictyah,  lak  she  wan'ed  a  kiss  ! 


174 


Jealous. 


JEALOUS. 

HYEAH  come  Caesar  Higgins, 
Don't  he  think  he's  fine? 
Look  at  dem  new  riggin's 
Ain't  he  tryin'  to  shine? 
Got  a  standin'  collar 
An'  a  stove-pipe  hat, 
I  '11  jes'  bet  a  dollar 
Some  one  gin  him  dat. 

Don't  one  o'  you  mention, 
Nothin'  'bout  his  does, 
Don't  pay  no  attention, 
Er  let  on  you  knows 
Dat  he  's  got  'em  on  him, 
Why,  't  '11  mek  him  sick, 
Jes  go  on  an'  sco'n  him, 
My,  ain't  dis  a  trick  ! 


Lyrics  of  the  Hearthside. 

Look  hyeah,  whut  's  he  doin' 
Lookin'  t'  othah  way? 
Dat  ere  move  's  a  new  one, 
Some  one  call  him,  "  Say  !  " 
Can't  you  see  no  pusson  — 
Puttin'  on  you'  airs, 
Sakes  alive,  you 's  wuss'n 
Dese  hyeah  millionaires. 

Need  n't  git  so  flighty, 

Case  you  got  dat  suit. 

Dem  does  ain't  so  mighty,  — 

Second  hand  to  boot, 

I 's  a-tryin'  to  spite  you  ! 

Full  of  jealousy  ! 

Look  hyeah,  man,  I  '11  fight  you, 

Don't  you  fool  wid  me  ! 


176 


Parted. 


PARTED. 

DE  breeze  is  blowin'  Across  de  bay. 
My  lady,  my  lady  ; 
De  ship  hit  teks  me  far  away, 

My  lady,  my  lady. 

Ole  Mas'  done  sol'  me  down  de  stream ; 
Dey  tell  me  't  ain't  so  bad  's  hit  seem, 
My  lady,  my  lady. 

O'  co'se  I  knows  dat  you  '11  be  true, 

My  lady,  my  lady ; 
But  den  I  do'  know  whut  to  do, 

My  lady,  my  lady. 

I  knowed  some  day  we  'd  have  to  pa't, 
But  den  hit  put'  nigh  breaks  my  hea't, 

My  lady,  my  lady. 
177 


Lyrics  of  the  Hearthside. 

De  day  is  long,  de  night  is  black, 

My  lady,  my  lady ; 
I  know  you  '11  wait  twell  I  come  back, 

My  lady,  my  lady. 

I  '11  stan'  de  ship,  I  '11  stan'  de  chain, 
But  I  '11  come  back,  my  darlin'  Jane, 

My  lady,  my  lady. 

Jes'  wait,  jes'  b'lieve  in  whut  I  say, 

My  lady,  my  lady  ; 
D'  ain't  nothin'  dat  kin  keep  me  'way, 

My  lady,  my  lady. 
A  man 's  a  man,  an'  love  is  love  ; 
God  knows  ouah  hea'ts,  my  little  dove ; 
He  '11  he'p  us  fom  his  th'one  above, 

My  lady,  my  lady. 


178 


Temptation. 


I 


TEMPTATION. 


DONE  got  'uligion,  honey,  an'  I 's  happy  ez 

a  king; 
Evahthing  I  see  erbout  me  's  jes'  lak  sunshine 

in  de  spring ; 
An'  it  seems  lak  I  do'  want  to  do  anothah  blessid 

thing 
But  jes'  run  an'  tell  de  neighbours,  an'  to  shout 

an'  pray  an'  sing. 


I  done  shuk  my  fis'  at  Satan,  an'  I 's  gin  de  worl' 

my  back ; 
I  do'  want  no  hendrin'  causes  now  a-both'rin' 

in  my  track  ; 
Fu'  I 's  on  my  way  to  glory,  an'  I  feels  too  sho' 

to  miss. 
V/'y,  dey  ain't  no  use  in  sinnin'  when  'uligion  's 

sweet  ez  dis. 

179 


Lyrics  of  the  Hearthside. 

Talk  erbout  a  man  backslidin'  w'en  he  's  on  de 

gospel  way ; 
No,  suh,  I  done  beat  de  debbil,  an'  Temptation 's 

los'  de  day. 
Gwine  to  keep  my  eyes  right  straight  up,  gwine 

to  shet  my  eahs,  an'  see 
Whut  ole  projick  Mistah  Satan 's  gwine  to  try  to 

wuk  on  me. 


Listen,  whut  dat  soun'  I  hyeah  dah?  'tain't  no 

one  commence  to  sing  ; 
It 's  a  fiddle ;  git  erway  dah  !  don'  you  hyeah 

dat  blessid  thing? 
W'y,  dat 's  sweet  ez  drippin'  honey,  'cause,  you 

knows,  I  draws  de  bow, 
An'  when  music 's  sho'  'nough  music,  I 's  de  one 

dat 's  sho'  to  know. 

W'y,  I 's  done  de  double  shuffle,  twell  a  body 

could  n't  res', 
Jes'  a-hyeahin'  Sam  de  fiddlah  play  dat  chune 

his  level  bes' ; 

180 


Temptation. 

I  could  cut  a  mighty  caper,  I  could  gin  a  mighty 

fling 
Jes'  right  now,  I  's  mo'  dan  suttain  I  could  cut 

de  pigeon  wing. 

Look  hyeah,  whut's  dis  I 's  been  sayin'  ?  whut 

on  urf 's  tuk  holt  o'  me? 
Dat  ole  music  come  nigh  runnin'  my  'uligion  up 

a  tree  ! 
Cleah  out  wif  dat  dah  ole  fiddle,  don'  you  try 

dat  trick  agin ; 
Did  n't  think  I  could  be  tempted,  but  you  lak  to 

made  me  sin  ! 


181 


Lyrics  of  the  Hearthside. 


POSSUM  TROT. 

I'VE  journeyed    'roun'   consid'able,    a-seein' 
men  an'  things, 
An'  I  've  learned  a  little  of  the  sense  that  meetin' 

people  brings ; 
But  in  spite  of  all  my  travelling  an'  of  all  I  think 

I  know, 
I  've  got  one  notion  in  my  head,  that  I  can't  git 

to  go; 

An'  it  is  that  the  folks  I  meet  in  any  other  spot 
Ain't  half  so  good  as  them  I  knowed  back  home 

in  Possum  Trot. 


I  know  you  Ve  never  heerd  the  name,  it  ain't  a 

famous  place, 
An'  I  reckon  ef  you'd  search  the  map  you  could 

n't  find  a  trace 

Of  any  sich  locality  as  this  I  Ve  named  to  you ; 
But  never  mind,  I  know  the  place,  an'  I  love  it 

dearly  too. 

182 


Possum  Trot. 

It  don't  make  no  pretensions  to  bein'  great  or 

fine, 
The  circuses  don't  come  that  way,  they  ain't  no 

railroad  line. 
It  ain't  no  great  big  city,  where  the  schemers 

plan  an'  plot, 
But   jest  a   little  settlement,   this  place  called 

Possum  Trot. 

But  don't  you  think  the  folks  that  lived  in  that 

outlandish  place 
Were  ignorant  of  all  the  things  that  go  for  sense 

or  grace. 
Why,  there  was  Hannah  Dyer,  you  may  search 

this  teemin'  earth 
An'  never  find  a  sweeter  girl,  er  one  o'  greater 

worth ; 

An'  Uncle  Abner  Williams,  a-leanin'  on  his  staff, 
It  seems  like  I  kin  hear  him  talk,  an'  hear  his 

hearty  laugh. 

His  heart  was  big  an'  cheery  as  a  sunny  acre  lot, 
Why,  that 's  the  kind  o'  folks  we  had  down  there 

at  Possum  Trot. 

183 


Lyrics  of  the  Hearthside. 

Good  times  ?     Well,  now,  to  suit  my  taste,  — 

an'  I  'm  some  hard  to  suit,  — 
There  ain't  been  no  sich  pleasure  sence,  an* 

won't  be  none  to  boot, 
With  buskin'  bees  in  Harvest  time,  an'  dances 

later  on, 
An'  singin'  school,  an  taffy  pulls,  an'  fun  from 

night  till  dawn. 
Revivals  come  in  winter  time,  baptizin's  in  the 

spring, 
You  'd  ought  to  seen  those  people  shout,  an' 

heerd  'em  pray  an'  sing; 
You  'd  ought   to  Ve  heard  ole   Parson  Brown 

a- thro  win'  gospel  shot 
Among   the  saints  an'  sinners  in    the  days  of 

Possum  Trot. 

We  live  up  in  the  city  now,  my  wife  was  bound 

to  come ; 
I  hear  aroun'  me  day  by  day  the  endless  stir 

an'  hum. 
I  reckon  that  it  done  me  good,  an'  yet  it  done 

me  harm, . 

184 


Possum  Trot. 

That  oil  was  found  so  plentiful  down  there  on 

my  ole  farm. 
We  've  got  a  new-styled  preacher,  our  church  is 

new-styled  too, 
An'  I  've  come  down  from  what  I  knowed  to 

rent  a  cushioned  pew. 
But  often  when  I  'm  settin'  there,  it 's  foolish, 

like  as  not, 
To  think  of  them  oP  benches  in  the  church  at 

Possum  Trot. 

I  know  that  I  'm  ungrateful,  an'  sich  thoughts 

must  be  a  sin, 
But  I  find  myself  a  wishin'  that  the  times  was 

back  agin. 
With  the  huskin's  an'  the  frolics,  an'  the  joys  I 

used  to  know, 
When  I  lived  at  the  settlement,  a  dozen  years 

ago. 
I  don't  feel  this  way  often,  I  'm  scarcely  ever 

glum, 
For  life  has  taught  me  how  to  take  her  chances 

as  they  come. 

185 


Lyrics  of  the  Hearthside. 

But  now  an'  then  my  mind  goes  back  to  that 

oP  buryin'  plot, 
That  holds  the  dust  of  some  I  loved,  down  there 

at  Possum  Trot. 


186 


Dely. 


DELY. 

JES'  lak  toddy  wahms  you  thoo' 
Sets  yo'  haid  a  reelin', 
Meks  you  ovah  good  and  new, 
Dat  's  de  way  I 's  feelin'. 
Seems  to  me  hit 's  summah  time, 

Dough  hit 's  wintah  reely, 
I  's  a  feelin'  jes'  dat  prime  — 
An*  huh  name  is  Dely. 

Dis  hyeah  love  's  a  cu'rus  thing, 

Changes  'roun'  de  season, 
Meks  you  sad  or  meks  you    sing, 

'Dout  no  urfly  reason. 
Sometimes  I  go  mopin'  'roun', 

Den  agin  I  's  leapin' ; 
Sperits  allus  up  an'  down 

Even  when  I 's  sleepin*. 
187 


Lyrics  of  the  Hearthside. 

Fu'  de  dreams  comes  to  me  den, 

An'  dey  keeps  me  pitchin', 
Lak  de  apple  dumplin's  w'en 

Bilin'  in  de  kitchen. 
Some  one  sot  to  do  me  hahm, 

Tryin'  to  ovahcome  me, 
Ketchin'  Dely  by  de  ahm 

So  's  to  tek  huh  f  om  me. 


Mon,  you  bettah  b'lieve  I  fights 

(Dough  hit 's  on'y  seemin')  ; 
I 's  a  hittin'  fu'  my  rights 

Even  w'en  I 's  dreamin'. 
But  I  'd  let  you  have  'em  all, 

Give  'em  to  you  freely, 
Good  an'  bad  ones,  great  an'  small, 

So 's  you  leave  me  Dely. 

Dely  got  dem  meltin'  eyes, 
Big  an'  black  an'  tendah. 

Dely  jes'  a  lady-size, 
Delikit  an'  slendah. 
1 88 


Dely. 

Dely  brown  ez  brown  kin  be 

An'  huh  haih  is  curly ; 
Oh,  she  look  so  sweet  to  me,  — 

Bless  de  precious  girlie  ! 

Dely  brown  ez  brown  kin  be, 

She  am'  no  mullatter ; 
She  pure  cullud,  —  don'  you  see 

Dat'  s  jes'  whut  's  de  mattah? 
Dat  's  de  why  I  love  huh  so, 

D*  ain't  no  mix  about  huh, 
Soon 's  you  see  huh  face  you  know 

D'  ain't  no  chanst  to  doubt  huh. 

Folks  dey  go  to  chu'ch  an'  pray 

So  's  to  git  a  blessin'. 
Oomph,  dey  bettah  come  my  way, 

Dey  could  lu'n  a  lesson. 
Sabbaf  day  I  don'  go  fu', 

Jes'  to  see  my  pigeon ; 
I  jes'  sets  an'  looks  at  huh, 

Dat 's  enuff  'uligion. 

189 


Lyrics  of  the  Hearthside. 


BREAKING  THE   CHARM. 

CAUGHT  Susanner  whistlin' ;  well, 
It 's  most  nigh  too  good  to  tell. 
'Twould  'a'  b'en  too  good  to  see 
Ef  it  had  n't  b'en  fur  me, 
Comin'  up  so  soft  an'  sly 
That  she  didn'  hear  me  nigh. 
I  was  pokin*  'round  that  day, 
An'  ez  I  come  down  the  way, 
First  her  whistle  strikes  my  ears,  — 
Then  her  gingham  dress  appears ; 
So  with  soft  step  up  I  slips. 
Oh,  them  dewy,  rosy  lips  ! 
Ripe  ez  cherries,  red  an'  round, 
Puckered  up  to  make  the  sound. 
She  was  lookin'  in  the  spring, 
Whistlin'  to  beat  anything,  — 
"  Kitty  Dale  "  er  "  In  the  Sweet." 
I  was  jest  so  mortal  beat 

IQO 


Breaking  the  Charm. 

That  I  can't  quite  ricoleck 
What  the  toon  was,  but  I  'speck 
'T  was  some  hymn  er  other,  fur 
Hymny  things  is  jest  like  her. 
Well  she  went  on  fur  awhile 
With  her  face  all  in  a  smile, 
An'  I  never  moved,  but  stood 
Stiller  'n  a  piepe  o'  wood  — 
Would  n't  wink  ner  would  n't  stir, 
But  a-gazin'  right  at  her, 
Tell  she  turns  an'  sees  me  —  my  ! 
Thought  at  first  she  'd  try  to  fly. 
But  she  blushed  an'  stood  her  ground. 
Then,  a-slyly  lookin'  round, 
She  says  :  "  Did  you  hear  me,  Ben?  " 
"  Whistlin'  woman,  crowin'  hen," 
Says  I,  lookin'  awful  stern. 
Then  the  red  commenced  to  burn 
In  them  cheeks  o'  hern.     Why,  la  ! 
Reddest  red  you  ever  saw  — 
Pineys  wa'n't  a  circumstance. 
You  'd  'a'  noticed  in  a  glance 
She  was  pow'rful  shamed  an'  skeart ; 
191 


Lyrics  of  the  Hearthside. 

But  she  looked  so  sweet  an'  peart, 
That  a  idee  struck  my  head ; 
So  I  up  an'  slowly  said : 
"  Woman  whistlin'  brings  shore  harm, 
Jest  one  thing  '11  break  the  charm." 
"  And  what 's  that?  "     "  Oh  my  !  "  says  I, 
"  I  don't  like  to  tell  you."     "  Why?  " 
Says  Susanner.     "  Well,  you  see 
It  would  kinder  fall  on  me." 
Course  I  knowed  that  she  'd  insist,  — 
So  I  says :  "  You  must  be  kissed 
By  the  man  that  heard  you  whistle ; 
Everybody  says  that  this  '11 
Break  the  charm  and  set  you  free 
From  the  threat'nin'  penalty." 
She  was  blushin'  fit  to  kill, 
But  she  answered,  kinder  still : 
"  I  don't  want  to  have  no  harm, 
Please  come,  Ben,  an'  break  the  charm." 
Did  I  break  that  charm  ?  —  oh,  well, 
There  's  some  things  I  must  n't  tell. 
I  remember,  afterwhile, 
Her  a-sayin'  with  a  smile  : 
192 


Breaking  the  Charm. 

"  Oh,  you  quit,  —  you  sassy  dunce, 
You  jest  caught  me  whistlin'  once" 
Ev'ry  sence  that  when  I  hear 
Some  one  whistlin'  kinder  clear, 
I  most  break  my  neck  to  see 
Ef  it 's  Susy  ;  but,  dear  me, 
I  jest  find  I  've  b'en  to  chase 
Some  blamed  boy  about  the  place. 
Dad  's  b'en  noticin'  my  way, 
An'  last  night  I  heerd  him  say : 
"  We  must  send  fur  Dr.  Glenn, 
Mother ;  somethin  's  wrong  with  Ben  !  " 


'3  193 


Lyrics  of  the  Hearthside. 


HUNTING  SONG. 

TEK  a  cool  night,  good  an'  cleah, 
Skiff  o'  snow  upon  de  groun' ; 
Jes'  'bout  fall-time  o'  de  yeah 

Wen  de  leaves  is  dry  an'  brown ; 
Tek  a  dog  an'  tek  a  axe, 

Tek  a  lantu'n  in  yo'  han', 
Step  light  whah  de  switches  cracks, 

Fu'  dey  's  huntin'  in  de  Ian'. 
Down  thoo  de  valleys  an'  ovah  de  hills, 

Into  de  woods  whah  de  'simmon-tree  grows, 
Wakin'  an'  skeerin'  de  po'  whippo'wills, 
Huntin'  fu'  coon  an'  fu'  'possum  we  goes. 

Blow  dat  ho'n  dah  loud  an'  strong, 
Call  de  dogs  an'  da'kies  neah ; 

Mek  its  music  cleah  an'  long, 

So  de  folks  at  home  kin  hyeah. 
194 


Hunting  Song. 

Blow  it  twell  de  hills  an'  trees 

Sen's  de  echoes  tumblin'  back ; 
Blow  it  twell  de  back'ard  breeze 

Tells  de  folks  we  's  on  de  track. 
Coons  is  a-ramblin'  an'  'possums  is  out ; 

Look  at  dat  dog ;  you  could  set  on  his  tail ! 
Watch  him  now —  steady,  —  min'  —  what  you  's 

about, 
Bless  me,  dat  animal 's  got  on  de  trail ! 


Listen  to  him  ba'kin'  now  ! 

Dat  means  bus'ness,  sho  's  you  bo'n ; 
Ef  he  's  struck  de  scent  I  'low 

Dat  ere  'possum  's  sholy  gone. 
Knowed  dat  dog  fu'  fo'teen  yeahs, 

An'  I  nevah  seed  him  fail 
Wen  he  sot  dem  flappin'  eahs 
An'  went  off  upon  a  trail. 
Run,  Mistah  'Possum,  an'  run,  Mistah  Coon, 
No  place  is  safe  fu'  yo'  ramblin'  to-night ; 
Mas'  gin'  de  lantu'n  an'  God  gin  de  moon, 
An'  a  long  hunt  gins  a  good  appetite. 
195 


Lyrics  of  the  Hearthside. 

Look  hyeah,  folks,  you  hyeah  dat  change? 

Dat  ba'k  is  sha'per  dan  de  res'. 
Dat  ere  soun'  ain't  nothin'  strange,  — 

Dat  dog  's  talked  his  level  bes'. 
Somep'n'  's  treed,  I  know  de  soun'. 

Dah  now,  —  wha  'd  I  tell  you  ?  see  ! 
Dat  ere  dog  done  run  him  down ; 

Come  hyeah,  he'p  cut  down  dis  tree. 
Ah,  Mistah  'Possum,  we  got  you  at  las'  — 

Need  n't  play  daid,  laying  dah  on  de  groun' ; 

Fros'  an'  de  'simmons  has  made  you  grow  fas',  — 

Won't  he  be  fine  when  he 's  roasted  up  brown  ! 


196 


A  Letter. 


A    LETTER. 

DEAR  Miss  LUCY  :  I  been  t'inkin'  dat 
I  'd  write  you  long  fo'  dis, 
But  dis  writin'  's  mighty  tejous,  an*  you  know 

jes'  how  it  is. 
But  I 's  got  a  little  lesure,  so  I  teks  my  pen  in 

han' 
Fu'  to  let  you  know  my  feelin's  since  I  retched 

dis  furrin'  Ian'. 
I 's  right  well,  I 's  glad  to  tell  you  (dough  dis 

climate  ain't  to  blame), 
An'  I  hopes  w'en  dese  lines  reach  you,  dat  dey  '11 

fin'  yo'  se'f  de  same. 
Cose  I'se  feelin'  kin'  o'  homesick  —  dat 's  ez 

nachul  ez  kin  be, 
W'en  a  feller  's  mo'n  th'ee  thousand  miles  across 

dat  awful  sea. 

(Don't  you  let  nobidy  fool  you  'bout  de  ocean 
bein'  gran' ; 

197 


Lyrics  of  the  Hearthside. 

If  you  want  to  see  de  billers,  you  jes'  view  dem 

f  om  de  Ian'.) 
'Bout   de    people?     We   been   t'inkin'  dat  all 

white  folks  was  alak ; 
But  dese  Englishmen  is  diffunt,  an'  dey  's  curus 

fu'  a  fac'. 
Fust,  dey  's  heavier  an'  redder  in  dey  make-up 

an'  dey  looks, 
An'  dey  don't  put  salt  nor  pepper  in  a  blessed 

t'ing  dey  cooks  ! 
Wen  dey  gin  you  good  ol'  tu'nips,  ca'ots,  pa's- 

nips,  beets,  an'  sich, 
Ef  dey  ain't  some  one  to  tell  you,  you  cain't 

'stinguish  which  is  which. 
Wen  I  t'ought  I'se  eatin'  chicken  —  you  may 

b'lieve  dis  hyeah  's  a  lie  — 
But  de  waiter  beat  me  down  dat  I  was  eatin' 

rabbit  pie. 
An'  dey  'd  t'ink  dat  you  was  crazy  —  jes'  a  reg'- 

lar  ravin'  loon, 
Ef  you  'd  speak  erbout  a  'possum  or  a  piece  o' 

good  ol'  coon. 
O,  hit 's  mighty  nice,  dis  trav'lin',  an'  I 's  kin'  o' 

glad  I  come. 

198 


A  Letter. 

But,  I  reckon,  now  I 's  willin'  fu'  to  tek  my  way 

back  home. 
I  done  see  de  Crystal  Palace,  an'  I's  hyeahd 

dey  string-band  play, 
But   I   has  n't   seen  no   banjos   layin'   nowhahs 

roun'  dis  way. 
Jes'  gin  ol1  Jim  Bowles  a  banjo,  an'  he  'd  not  go 

very  fu', 
'Fo'  he  'd  outplayed  all  dese  fiddlers,  wif  dey 

flourish  and  dey  stir. 
Evahbiddy  dat  I  's  met  wif  has  been  monst'ous 

kin'  an'  good  ; 
But  I  t'ink  I  'd  lak  it  better  to  be  down  in  Jones's 

wood, 
Where  we  ust  to  have  sich  frolics,  Lucy,  you  an' 

me  an'  Nelse, 
Dough  my  appetite  'ud  call  me,  ef  dey  was  n't 

nuffin  else. 
I  'd  jes'  lak  to  have  some  sweet-pertaters  roasted 

in  de  skin ; 
I 's  a-longin'  fu'  my  chittlin's  an'  my  mustard 

greens  ergin ; 
I  's  a-wishin'  fu'  some  buttermilk,  an'  co'n  braid, 

good  an'  brown, 
199 


Lyrics  of  the  Hearthside. 

An'  a  drap  o'  good  oP  bourbon  fu'  to  wash  my 

feelin's  down  ! 
An'  I 's  comin'  back  to  see  you  jes'  as  ehly  as  I 

kin, 
So  you  better  not  go  spa'kin'  wif  dat  wuffless 

scoun'el  Quin  ! 
Well,  I  reckon,  I  mus'  close  now ;  write  ez  soon 

's  dis  reaches  you ; 
Gi'  my  love  to   Sister   Mandy   an'    to   Uncle 

Isham,  too. 
Tell  de  folks  I  sen'  'em  howdy;  gin  a  kiss  to 

pap  an'  mam ; 
Closin'  I  is,  deah  Miss  Lucy, 

Still  Yo'  Own  True-Lovin'  SAM. 

P.  S.    Ef  you  cain't  mek  out  dis  letter,  lay  it  by 

erpon  de  she'f, 

An'  when  I  git  home,  I  '11  read,  it,  darlin', 
to  you  my  own  se'f. 


200 


Chrismus  is  A-comin'. 


CHRISMUS    IS   A-COMIN1 

BONES  a-gittin'  achy, 
Back  a-feelin'  col', 
Han's  a-gro\vin'  shaky, 
Jes'  lak  I  was  ol'. 
Fros'  erpon  de  meddah 
Lookin'  mighty  white ; 
Snowdraps  lak  a  feddah 
Slippin'  down  at  night. 
Jes'  keep  t'ings  a-hummin' 
Spite  o'  fros'  an'  showahs, 
Chrismus  is  a-comin' 
An'  all  de  week  is  ouahs. 

Little  mas'  a-axin', 
" Who  is  Santy  Glaus?" 
Meks  it  kin'  o'  taxin' 
Not  to  brek  de  laws. 
Chillun  's  pow'ful  tryin* 
201 


Lyrics  of  the  Hearthside. 

To  a  pusson's  grace 
Wen  dey  go  a  pryin' 
Right  on  th'oo  you'  face 
Down  erraong  yo'  feelin's ; 
Jes'  'pears  lak  dat  you 
Got  to  change  you'  dealin's 
So  's  to  tell  'em  true. 

An'  my  pickaninny  — 
Dreamin'  in  his  sleep  ! 
Come  hyeah,  Mammy  Jinny, 
Come  an'  tek  a  peep. 
Ol'  Mas'  Bob  an'  Missis 
In  dey  house  up  daih 
Got  no  chile  lak  dis  is, 
D'  ain't  none  anywhaih. 
Sleep,  my  little  lammy, 
Sleep,  you  little  limb, 
He  do'  know  whut  mammy 
Done  saved  up  fu'  him. 

Dey  '11  be  banjo  picking 
Dancin'  all  night  thoo. 
202 


Chrismus  is  A-comin'. 

Dey  '11  be  lots  o'  chicken, 
Plenty  tukky,  too. 
Drams  to  wet  yo'  whistles 
So  's  to  drive  out  chills. 
Whut  I  keer  fu'  drizzles 
Fallin'  on  de  hills? 
Jes'  keep  t'ings  a-hummin' 
Spite  o'  col'  an'  showahs, 
Chrismus  day  's  a-comin', 
An'  all  de  week  is  ouahs. 


203 


Lyrics  of  the  Hearthside. 


A   CABIN   TALE. 

THE   YOUNG   MASTER   ASKS    FOR   A   STORY. 

WHUT  you  say,  dah?  huh,  uh  !  chile, 
You 's  enough  to  dribe  me  wile. 
Want  a  sto'y ;  jes'  hyeah  dat ! 
Whah'  '11  I  git  a  sto'y  at? 
Di'n'  I  tell  you  th'ee  las'  night? 
Go  'way,  honey,  you  ain't  right 
I  got  somep'n'  else  to  do, 
'Cides  jes'  tellin'  tales  to  you. 
Tell  you  jes'  one  ?     Lem  me  see 
Whut  dat  one 's  a-gwine  to  be. 
When  you  's  ole,  yo  membry  fails ; 
Seems  lak  I  do'  know  no  tales. 
Well,  set  down  dah  in  dat  cheer, 
Keep  still  ef  you  wants  to  hyeah. 
Tek  dat  chin  up  off  yo'  han's, 
Set  up  nice  now.     Goodness  lan's  ! 
204 


A  Cabin  Tale. 

Hoi'  yo'se'f  up  lak  yo'  pa. 

Bet  nobidy  evah  saw 

Him  scrunched  down  lak  you  was  den 

High-tone  boys  meks  high-tone  men. 

Once  dey  was  a  ole  black  bah, 
Used  to  live  'roun'  hyeah  somewhah 
In  a  cave.     He  was  so  big 
He  could  ca'y  off  a  pig 
Lak  you  picks  a  chicken  up, 
Er  yo'  leetles'  bit  o'  pup. 
An'  he  had  two  gread  big  eyes, 
Jes'  erbout  a  saucer's  size. 
Why,  dey  looked  lak  balls  o'  fiah 
Jumpin'  'roun'  erpon  a  wiah 
Wen  dat  bah  was  mad ;  an'  laws  ! 
But  you  ought  to  seen  his  paws  ! 
Did  I  see  'em?     How  you  'spec 
I 's  a-gwine  to  ricollec' 
Dis  hyeah  ya'n  I 's  try'n'  to  spin 
Ef  you  keeps  on  puttin'  in? 
You  keep  still  an'  don't  you  cheep 
Less  I  '11  sen'  you  off  to  sleep. 
205 


Lyrics  of  the  Hearthside. 

Dis  hyeah  bah  'd  go  trompin'  'roun' 
Eatin'  evahthing  he  foun' ; 
No  one  could  n't  have  a  fa'm 
But  dat  bah  Vd  do  'em  ha'm ; 
And  dey  could  n't  ketch  de  scamp. 
Anywhah  he  wan'ed  to  tramp, 
Dah  de  scoun'el  *d  mek  his  track, 
Do  his  du't  an'  come  on  back. 
He  was  sich  a  sly  ole  limb, 
Traps  was  jes'  lak  fun  to  him. 

Now,  down  neah  whah  Mistah  Bah 
Lived,  dey  was  a  weasel  dah ; 
But  dey  was  n't  fren's  a-tall 
Case  de  weasel  was  so  small. 
An'  de  bah  'u'd,  jes.'  fu'  sass, 
Tu'n  his  nose  up  w'en  he  'd  pass. 
Weasels  's  small  o'  cose,  but  my ! 
Dem  air  animiles  is  sly. 
So  dis  hyeah  one  says,  says  he, 
"  I  '11  jes'  fix  dat  bah,  you  see." 
So  he  fixes  up  his  plan 
An'  hunts  up  de  fa' merman. 
206 


A  Cabin  Tale. 

When  de  fa'mer  see  him  come, 
He  'mence  lookin'  mighty  glum, 
An'  he  ketches  up  a  stick ; 
But  de  weasel  speak  up  quick  : 
"  Hoi'  on,  Mistah  Fa'mer  man, 
I  wan'  'splain  a  little  plan. 
Ef  you  waits,  I  '11  tell  you  whah 
An'  jes'  how  to  ketch  ol'  Bah. 
But  I  tell  yow  now  you  mus' 
Gin  me  one  fat  chicken  fus'." 
Den  de  man  he  scratch  his  haid, 
Las'  he  say,  "  I  '11  mek  de  trade." 
So  de  weasel  et  his  hen, 
Smacked  his  mouf  and  says,  "  Well,  den, 
Set  yo'  trap  an'  bait  ternight, 
An'  I  '11  ketch  de  bah  all  right." 
Den  he  ups  an'  goes  to  see 
Mistah  Bah,  an'  says,  says  he  : 
"  Well,  fren'  Bah,  we  ain't  been  fren's, 
But  ternight  ha'd  feelin'  'en's. 
Ef  you  ain't  too  proud  to  steal, 
We  kin  git  a  splendid  meal. 
Cose  I  would  n't  come  to  you, 
207 


Lyrics  of  the  Hearthside. 

But  it  mus'  be  done  by  two ; 
Hit 's  a  trap,  but  we  kin  beat 
All  dey  tricks  an'  git  de  meat." 
"  Cose  I 's  wif  you,"  says  de  bah, 
"  Come  on,  weasel,  show  me  whah." 
Well,  dey  trots  erlong  ontwell 
Dat  air  meat  beginned  to  smell 
In  de  trap.     Den  weasel  say : 
"  Now  you  put  yo'  paw  dis  way 
While  I  hoi'  de  spring  back  so, 
Den  you  grab  de  meat  an'  go." 
Well,  de  bah  he  had  to  grin 
Ez  he  put  his  big  paw  in, 
Den  he  juked  up,  but  — kerbing  ! 
Weasel  done  let  go  de  spring. 
"  Dan  now,"  says  de  weasel,  "  dah, 
I  done  cotched  you,  Mistah  Bah  ! n 
O,  dat  bah  did  sno't  and  spout, 
Try'n'  his  bestes'  to  git  out, 
But  de  weasel  say,  "  Goo'-bye  ! 
Weasel  small,  but  weasel  sly." 
Den  he  tu'ned  his  back  an'  run 
Tol'  de  fa'mer  whut  he  done. 
208 


A  Cabin  Tale. 

So  de  fa'mer  come  down  dah, 
Wif  a  axe  and  killed  de  bah. 

Dah  now,  ain't  dat  sto'y  fine  ? 
Run  erlong  now,  nevah  rain*. 
Want  some  mo',  you  rascal,  you  ? 
No,  suh  !  no,  suh  !  dat  '11  do. 


209 


Lyrics  of  the  Hearthside. 


AT   CANDLE-LIGHTIN'  TIME. 

WHEN  I  come  in  f  om  de  co'n-fiel'  aftah 
wo'kin'  ha'd  all  day, 
It 's  amazin'  nice  to  fin'  my  suppah  all  erpon  de 

way; 
An'  it 's  nice  to  smell  de  coffee  bubblin'  ovah  in 

de  pot, 

An'  it 's  fine  to  see  de  meat  a-sizzlin'  teasin'- 
lak  an'  hot. 

But  when  suppah-time  is  ovah,  an'  de  t'ings  is 

cleahed  away  ,• 
Den  de  happy  hours  dat  foller  are  de  sweetes' 

of  de  day. 
When  my  co'ncob  pipe  is  sta'ted,  an'  de  smoke 

is  drawin'  prime, 
My  ole  'ooman  says,  "  I  reckon,  Ike,  it 's  can- 

dle-lightin'  time." 

2IO 


At  Candle-Lightin'  Time. 

Den  de  chillun  snuggle  up  to  me,  an'  all  com 
mence  to  call, 

"  Oh,  say,  daddy,  now  it 's  time  to  mek  de 
shadders  on  de  wall." 

So  I  puts  my  ban's  togethah  —  evah  daddy 
knows  de  way,  — 

An1  de  chillun  snuggle  closer  roun'  ez  I  begin 
to  say  :  — 

"  Fus'  thing,  hyeah  come  Mistah  Rabbit ;  don' 

you  see  him  wo'k  his  eahs? 
Huh,    uh !    dis    mus'    be    a    donkey,  —  look, 

how  innercent  he  'pears  ! 
Dah  's  de  ole  black  swan  a-swimmin'  —  ain't  she 

got  a'  awful  neck? 
Who  's  dis  feller  dat  's  a-comin'  ?     Why,  dat  's 

ole  dog  Tray,  I  'spec'  !  " 

Dat 's  de  way  I  run  on,  tryin'  fu'  to  please  'em 

all  I  can ; 
Den  I  hollahs,  "Now  be  keerful  —  dis   hyeah 

las'  's  de  buga-man  !  " 

21  I 


Lyrics  of  the  Hearthside. 

An'    dey  runs  an'  hides   dey  faces;  dey  ain't 

skeered  —  dey's  lettin'  on  : 
But  de  play   ain't  raaly  ovah   twell  dat  buga- 

man  is  gone. 

So  I  jes'  teks  up  my  banjo,  an'  I  plays  a  little 

chune, 
An'   you  see  dem  haids  come  peepin'  out  to 

listen  mighty  soon. 
Den  my  wife  says,  "  Sich  a  pappy  m'  to  give 

you  sich  a  fright ! 
Jes'   you   go   to   baid,  an'  leave  him :  say  yo' 

prayers  an'  say  good-night." 


212 


Whistling  Sam. 


WHISTLING    SAM. 

I     HAS    hyeahd    o'    people    dancin'    an'    I 's 
hyeahd  o'  people  singin'. 
An'  I 's  been  'roun'  lots  of  othahs  dat  could  keep 

de  banjo  ringin' ; 
But  of  all  de  whistlin'   da'kies  dat  have  lived  an' 

died  since  Ham, 
De  whistlin'est  I  evah  seed  was  ol'  Ike  Bates's 

Sam. 
In  de  kitchen  er  de  stable,  in  de  fiel'  er  mowin' 

hay, 
You  could   hyeah  dat  boy  a-whistlin'  pu'ty  nigh 

a  mile  erway,  — 
Puck'rin'  up  his  ugly  features  'twell  you  couldn't 

see  his  eyes, 
Den  you  'd  hyeah  a  soun'  lak  dis  un  f  om  dat 

awful  puckah  rise  : 

213 


Lyrics  of  the  H earths! de. 


—+ 


JP  Jb   ?  ff\  f  •<••!     *    Hi  k  Is    Llg 


When  dey  had  revival  meetin'  an'  de  Lawd's 

good  grace  was  flowin' 
On   de  groun'   dat  needed  wat'rin'  whaih  de 

seeds  of  good  was  growin', 
While  de  othahs  was  a-singin'   an'    a-shoutin' 

right  an'  lef , 
You  could  hyeah  dat  boy  a-whistlin'  kin*  o'  sof 

beneaf  his  bref : 


3= 


-*-=- 


I 


214 


Whistling  Sam. 


At   de   call   fu'  colo'ed  soldiers,   Sam    enlisted 

'mong  de  res' 
Wid  de  blue  o'   Gawd's   great    ahmy  wropped 

about  his  swellin'  breas', 
An'  he  laffed  an'  whistled  loudah  in  his  youfful 

joy  an'  glee 
Dat  de  govament  would  let  him  he'p  to  mek 

his  people  free. 
Daih  was  lots  o'  ties  to  bin'  him,  pappy,  mammy, 

an'  his  Dinah, — 
Dinah,  min'   you,  was   his    sweethea't,   an'    dey 

wasn't  nary  fin  ah  ; 
But  he  lef   'em  all,  I   tell  you,  lak  a  king  he 

ma'ched  away, 
Try'n'  his  level  bes'  to  whistle,  happy,  solemn, 

choky,  gay  : 


6: 0- 


—A- 


H — \— t- 


/ 


f 


u 


2I5 


Lyrics  of  the  Hearthside. 

To  de  front  he  went  an'  bravely  fought  de  foe 

an'  kep'  his  sperrit, 
An'    his   comerds   said   his   whistle  made  'em 

strong  when  dey  could  hyeah  it. 
When  a  saber  er  a  bullet  cut  some  frien'  o'  his'n 

down, 
An'  de  time  'u'd  come   to   trench  him  an'  de 

boys  'u'd  gethah  'roun', 
An'   dey  couldn't    sta't  a   hymn-tune,  mebbe 

none  o'  dem  'u'd  keer, 
Sam    'u'd   whistle    "Sleep    in   Jesus,"    an'    he 

knowed  de  Mastah  'd  hyeah. 
In  de  camp,  all  sad  discouraged,  he  would  cheer 

de  hea'ts  of  all, 
When  above  de  soun'  of  labour  dey  could  hyeah 

his  whistle  call : 


*£ 


E3 


11 


216 


Whistling  Sam. 

When  de  cruel  wah  was  ovah  an'  de  boys  come 

ma'chin'  back, 
Dey  was  shouts  an'  cries  an'  blessin's  all  erlong 

dey  happy  track, 
An'  de  da'kies  all  was  happy ;  souls  an'  bodies 

bofe  was  freed. 
Why,  hit  seemed  lak  de  Redeemah  mus'  'a'  been 

on  earf  indeed. 
Dey  was  gethahed  all  one  evenin'  jes'  befo'  de 

cabin  do', 
When  dey  hyeahd  somebody  whistlin'  kin'  o'  sof 

an'  sweet  an'  low. 
Dey  could  n't  see  de  whistlah,  but  de  hymn  was 

cleah  and  ca'm, 
An'  dey  all  stood  daih  a-listenin'  ontwell  Dinah 

shouted,  "Sam  !" 
An*  dey  seed  a  little  da'ky  way  off  yandah  thoo 

de  trees 
Wid   his  face  all  in  a  puckah  mekin'  jes'  sich 

soun's  ez  dese  : 


217 


Lyrics  of  the  Hearthside. 


HOW   LUCY    BACKSLID. 

DE  times  is  mighty  stirrin'  'mong  de  people 
up  ouah  way, 
Dey  'sputin'  an'  dey  argyin'  an'  fussin'  night  an' 

day; 
An'  all  dis  monst'ous  trouble  dat  hit  meks  me 

tiahed  to  tell 

Is  'bout  dat  Lucy  Jackson  dat  was  sich  a  mighty 
belle. 


She  was  de  preachah's  favoured,  an'  he  toP  de 

chu'ch  one  night 
Dat  she  travelled  thoo  de  cloud  o'  sin  a-bearin' 

of  a  light ; 
But,  now,  I  'low  he  t'inkin'  dat  she  mus'  'a'  los' 

huh  lamp, 
Case  Lucy  done  backslided  an'  dey  trouble  in 

de  camp. 

218 


How  Lucy  Backslid. 

Huh  daddy  wants  to  beat  huh.  but  huh  mammy 

daihs  him  to, 
Fu'  she  lookin'  at  de  question  f  om  a  ooman's 

pint  o'  view; 
An'  she  say  dat  now  she  would  n't  have  it  dif- 

fent  ef  she  could  ; 
Dat  huh  darter  only  acted  jes'  lak  any  othah 

would. 


Cose  you  know  w'en  women  argy,  dey  is  mighty 

easy  led 
By  dey  hea'ts   an'    don't   go   foolin'  'bout    de 

reasons  of  de  haid. 
So   huh   mammy  laid  de   law  down   (she    ain' 

reckernizin'  wrong), 
But  you  got  to  mek  erlowance  fu'  de  cause  dat 

go  along. 

Now  de  cause  dat  made  Miss  Lucy  fu'  to  th'ow 

huh  grace  away 
I 's  afeard  won't  baih  no  'spection  w'en  hit  come 

to  jedgement  day ; 
219 


Lyrics  of  the  Hearthside. 

Do*  de  same  t'ing  been  a-wo'kin'  evah  sence  de 

worl'  began,  — 
De  ooman  disobeyin'  fu'  to  'tice  along  a  man. 


Ef  you  'tended  de  revivals  which  we  held  de 

wintah  pas', 
You  kin  rickolec'  dat  convuts  was  a-comin'  thick 

an'  fas' ; 
But  dey  ain't  no  use  in  talkin',  dey  was  all  lef 

in  de  lu'ch 
Wen  oP  Mis'  Jackson's  dartah  foun'  huh  peace 

an'  tuk  de  chu'ch. 


W'y,  she  shouted  ovah  evah  inch  of  Ebenezah's 

flo'j 
Up  into  de  preachah's  pulpit  an'  f  om  dah  down 

to  de  do' ; 
Den  she  hugged  an'  squeezed  huh  mammy,  an' 

she  hugged  an'  kissed  huh  dad, 
An'  she  struck  out  at  huh  sistah,  people  said, 

lak  she  was  mad. 
220 


How  Lucy  Backslid. 

I  has  'tended  some  revivals  dat  was  lively  in  my 
day, 

An'  I 's  seed  folks  git  'uligion  in  mos'  evah  kin' 
o'  way; 

But  I  tell  you,  an'  you  b'lieve  me  dat  I 's  speak- 
in'  true  indeed, 

Dat  gal  tuk  huh  'ligion  ha'dah  dan  de  ha'dest 
yit  I 's  seed. 


Well,  f  om  dat,  't  was  "  Sistah  Jackson,  won't  you 

please  do  dis  er  dat  ?  " 
She  mus'  allus  sta't  de  singin*  w'en  dey  'd  pass 

erroun'  de  hat, 
An'  hit  seemed  dey  was  n't  nuffin'  in  dat  chu'ch 

dat  could  go  by 
'Dout  sistah  Lucy  Jackson  had  a  finger  in  de 

pie. 

But  de  sayin'  mighty  trufeful  dat  hit  easiah  to 

sail 
W'en  de  sea  is  ca'm  an'  gentle  dan  to  weathah 

out  a  gale. 

221 


Lyrics  of  the  Hearthside. 

Dat's  whut  made  dis  ooman's  trouble;  ef  de 

sto'm  had  kep'  away, 
She  'd  'a'  had  enough  'uligion  fu'  to  lasted  out 

huh  day. 


Lucy  went  wid  'Lishy  Davis,  but  w'en  she  jined 

chu'ch,  you  know 
Dah  was  lots  o'  little  places  dat,  of  cose,  she 

could  n't  go ; 
An'  she  had  to  gin  up  dancin'  an'  huh  singin' 

an'  huh  play.  — 
Now  hit 's  nachul  dat  sich  goin's-on  'u'd  drive  a 

man  away. 

So,  w'en  Lucy  got  so  solemn,  Ike  he  sta'ted  fu' 

to  go 
Wid  a  gal  who  was  a  sinnah  an'  could  mek  a 

bettah  show. 
Lucy  jes'  went  on  to  meetin'  lak  she  did  n't  keer 

a  rap, 
But  my   'sperunce   kep'   me   t'inkin*  dah  was 

somep'n'  gwine  to  drap. 

222 


How  Lucy  Backslid. 

Fu'  a  gal  won't  let  'uligion  er  no  othah  so't  o' 

t'ing 
Stop  huh  w'en  she  teks  a  notion  dat  she  wants 

a  weddin'  ring. 
You  kin  p'omise  huh  de  blessin's  of  a  happy 

aftah  life 
(An'  hit's  nice  to  be  a  angel),  but  she  'd  ravah 

be  a  wife. 


So  w'en  Chrismus  come  an'  mastah  gin  a  frolic 

on  de  lawn, 
Didn't  'sprise  me  not  de  littlest  seem'   Lucy 

lookin'  on. 
An'  I  seed  a  wa'nin'  lightnin'  go  a-flashin'  fom 

huh  eye 
Jest  ez  'Lishy  an*  his  new  gal  went  a-gallivantin* 

by. 

An'  dat  Tildy,  umph !  she  giggled,  an'  she  gin 

huh  dress  a  flirt 
Lak  de  people  she  was  passin'  was  ez  common 

ez  de  dirt ; 

223 


Lyrics  of  the  Hearthside. 

An'  de  minit  she  was  dancin',  w'y  dat  gal  put 

on  mo'  aihs 
Dan  a  cat  a-tekin'  kittens  up  a  paih  o'  windin' 

staihs. 


She  could  'fo'd  to  show  huh  sma'tness,  fu*  she 

could  n't  he'p  but  know 
Dat  wid  jes'  de  present  dancahs  she  was  ownah 

of  de  flo' ; 
But  I  t'ink  she  'd  kin'  o'  cooled  down  ef  she 

happened  on  de  sly 
Fu'  to  noticed  dat  'ere  lightnin'  dat  I  seed  in 

Lucy's  eye. 

An'  she  would  n't  been  so  'stonished  w'en  de 
people  gin  a  shout, 

An'  Lucy  th'owed  huh  mantle  back  an'  come 
a-glidin'  out. 

Some  ahms  was  dah  to  tek  huh  an'  she  fluttahed 
down  de  flo' 

Lak  a  feddah  f  om  a  bedtick  w'en  de  win'  com 
mence  to  blow. 

224 


How  Lucy  Backslid. 

Soon  ez  Tildy  see  de  trouble,  she  jes'  tu'n  an' 

toss  huh  haid, 
But  seem  lak  she  los'  huh  sperrit,  all  huh  darin'- 

ness  was  daid. 
Did  n't  cut  anothah  capah  nary  time  de  blessid 

night ; 
But  de  othah  one,  hit  looked  lak  could  n't  git 

enough  delight. 

Wen  you  keeps  a  colt  a-stan'nin'  in  de  stable 

all  along, 
Wen  he  do  git  out  hit 's  nachul  he  '11  be  pullin' 

mighty  strong. 
Ef  you  will  tie  up  yo'  feelin's,  hyeah  's  de  bes' 

advice  to  tek, 
Look  out  fu'  an  awful  loosin'  w'en  de  string  dat 

hoi's  'em  brek. 


Lucy's  mammy  groaned  to  see   huh,  an'  huh 

pappy  sto'med  an'  to', 
But  she  kep'  right  on  a-hol'in'  to  de  centah  of 

de  flo'. 
J5  225 


Lyrics  of  the  Hearthside. 

So  dey  went  an'  ast  de  pastoh  ef  he  couldn't 

mek  huh  quit, 
But  de  tellin'  of  de  sto'y  th'owed  de  preachah 

in  a  fit. 


Tildy  Taylor  chewed  huh  hank'cher  twell  she'd 

chewed  it  in  a  hole,  — 
All  de  sinnahs  was  rejoicin'  'cause  a  lamb  had 

lef  de  folf, 
An'  de  las'  I  seed  o'  Lucy,  she  an'  'Lish  was 

side  an'  side  : 
I  don't  blame  de  gal  fu'  dancin',  an'  I  could  n't 

ef  I  tried. 


Fu'  de  men  dat  wants  to  ma'y   ain't  a-growin' 

'roun'  on  trees, 
An  de  gal  dat  wants  to  git  one  sholy  has  to  try 

to  please. 
Hit 's  a  ha'd  t'ing  fu'  a  ooman  fu'  to  pray  an'  jes' 

set  down, 
An'  to  sacafice  a  husban'  so  's  to  try  to  gain  a 

crown. 

226 


How  Lucy  Backslid. 

Now,  I  don'  say  she  was  justified  in  follerin'  huh 

plan; 
But  aldough  she  los'  huh  'ligion,  yit  she  sholy 

got  de  man. 
Latah  on,  w'en  she  is  suttain  dat  de  preachah  's 

made  'em  fas' 
She  kin  jes'  go  back  to  chu'ch  an'  ax  fu'giveness 

fu'  de  pas'  ! 


227 


